I'm Sorry...What?!

Pottery shops can get a bit tedious before tourist season starts. Here are my favorite snippets of conversations on which I have taken the liberty of eavesdropping. Little did they know that I'm notorious for remembering everything. You're welcome.

"Uh-oh. Quick, burn Marcy's wallet!"
"There's flying weird nude ladies!" (I'll let it slide that he spoke with improper grammar).
(Upon seeing several ceramic hermit crabs scattered throughout the garden): "Look, Lou! Grow your own crabs!"
"This is cute! A line of fish women! That's what we need, Sue."
"She didn't even know berry bowls existed and then she found the one of her dreams!"

And here's my personal favorite (which I don't anticipate ever being topped):
(Woman bolting in through the front door and up to the desk): "I need Nature's facility. Where is Nature's facility?" -coming out of Nature's facility- "Thank you so much! That came without warning."

In other news: RAIN. I have never in my life experienced this much wetness all day, all night, every day, every night. And I've seen a lot of rain in my 22 years. I've never really understood S.A.D. because I've come to know rain as a part of me--as inevitable as hunger. Here, it's splitting me apart, seeping into my skull, eroding fissures and canyons in my morale. I go to sleep at night whispering "Please don't rain, please don't rain," and wake up hours later to a cacophony of drops so deafening against the canvas roof that I never really fall back asleep. Walking gingerly across the grass feels like I'm pouncing on a giant wet sponge. Because the soggy wood of my deck is ice-slick, slugs manage to cross it faster than I do. Even the frogs, with their incredible synchronized acoustics, sound vaguely like they're drowning. More often than not, the sky and the water are the exact same shade of empty grey.

There's a distinct possibility that I might be losing my mind.