I’m in Sweden, where the summer so far has been a dreary collage of grey skies and constant rain. It’s slowly starting to let up, but we’ve had maybe three nice days all summer.
Reflecting upon this, I turned to my beloved over breakfast and asked how it could possibly rain so much. All the water coming down has to get up through evaporation, so how can it rain a lot more certain periods? Surely it must even out somehow? More water evaporates when it’s warm, she says. “But it hasn’t been warm!”, I complain. She points out that the evaporating water doesn’t necessarily rain down on the same spot from which it evaporated.
“So there’s some fucker somewhere who’s had a lovely summer, and because of him I have to suffer through this?”, I said with a dramatic gesture towards the torrents of rain outside the window.
“It doesn’t have to be over land”, she says. “It could be in the middle of the Atlantic.”
In other words, somewhere in the Atlantic there’s a fucking lucky piece of shit fish who’s had the summer of his fish life, totally ignoring that I’ve lived through an eight week rainstorm. Therefore, I Pit that fish. Fuck it.