Rain Ruins Picnics

Susan and I were invited to a concert and picnic by K at the local art museum where she was a member called Cheekwood. I bought a Coleman cooler for the occasion. The forecast called for a ten percent chance of scattered showers. Perhaps it did not augur well for future happiness but almost immediately after we had opened K and her new companion Frank's wicker basket and my Coleman and laid out a bill of fare that would have made Martha Stewart proud and as the band began to play, a hellish burst of rain put the kibosh on the proceedings. We along with everyone else were scampering for cars or cover. When we arrived back at K's wet and a little worse for the wear, we toweled off and sitting in the kitchen, I misspoke for the first time in Frank and K's presence. I asked Frank where he was from and he said Nebraska. Through chattering teeth, I asked anywhere near the "Pratt" actually meaning Platte. I know and knew the difference and tried to brush it off with a comment on Pratt and Whitney engines. I actually never saw Frank or K after that evening.