Pete, soaking wet, ran past me in the living room, shouting, “Mrppzk bvtup show you something” over his shoulder. That seemed unusual. I donned my Flipflops Of Backyard Investigation and followed him, but not fast enough because from the back porch, Pete groused, “Now! Now! Hurry!”
He was pointing at the corner of the garage, where a rain barrel Pete had set up only hours before was overflowing after a sudden mini monsoon. It was still raining as I grabbed my camera and ran outside. When I cam back in, I was dry and Pete was still soaked.
Tata: So. Why are you wet and where did you go?
Pete: The downspout clogged.
Tata: I’m stumped.
Pete: The downspout clogged so I got up on a ladder and pushed a stick through it.
Tata: You got up on an aluminum ladder at the end of a lightning storm and now our rain barrel is overflowing.
Pete: Yeah, all that water was just sitting on top of the garage.
Tata: Is it too soon in this story for me to panic and fix a martini?