Attention, world: There are puddles in Yuma! Actual, splashable puddles! (I know this because I tested some of them thoroughly, and now my neighbors may or may not be speed dialing the nice men in white coats, but I’m too wet and muddy to care.)
No offense, Yumans, but I’m pretty sure this is a present just for me, because suddenly I feel like singing this song. With the young Christopher Plummer and his amazing eyes. Or the current silver-haired version. It’s totally his call. I’m game either way.
And right now, I feel like that’s a genuine possibility… know why? Because it has been raining in Yuma for the past six hours! Straight out rain! With puddles!
PS— Mr. Plummer, when you read this, my email is on the sidebar, and I’ll happily meet you on top of the mountain. But if you see me being followed by those white-coated men, we’ll need to Do-Re-Mi our Fas out of there. So, you know, just be prepared. Maybe bring the whistle.
PPS— I just realized that the title could possibly be misconstrued as rather un-nunlike. I assure you, Mr. Plummer sir, our singing adventure will be totally platonic. I will not be expecting any good and wet kisses. A nice peck on the cheek will do just fine.
PPPS— PUDDLES!! You got that, right, Mr. Plummer? It’s FATE! So, call me, maybe. 😉