When it Rains
On way in to work, skies very dark and rain, though not torrential is brisk enough to warrant use of umbrella. Umbrella exhibits unhelpful tendency to turn itself inside out , which turns it into a bowl, then wind pushes edges down, dumping collected water on very angry self. Feel that this bodes ill for the day and tell same to Oliver who says when I enter that it looks like I just Went for a Jog. Go immediately to bathroom to try to neaten self up. Return from bathroom in worse shape--not improved by Oliver taking one look at hair and saying, OOH, Woah. Have sharp reply being formulated in head which will probably not be ready until am preparing to go to sleep. But before can stutter out placeholder, Oliver flaps phone message in my face. It is from a literary agent--friend of friend of the Contessa's who was encouraged to send manuscript to and did, on Friday. Call. Agent says he would like to meet for coffee, and that he thinks the manuscript is Magnificent (he must be exaggerating) and he can't wait to meet me in person. Am, naturally, stunned. Call Dave, who says that he is not at all surprised. Not at all? No, and he is very proud. Experience strange but mostly pleasant mixture of emotions.