What a season it is, summer. Just saying the word makes you picture clear blue skies, golden beaches and loads of sunshine. Unless, of course, you are Dutch. Don't quit reading yet.
I know the weather is a boring topic, and I am fully aware that complaining about it is even more of a cliché. I cannot be helped though. I'm Dutch, and we enjoy complaining. Humour me. If you still think of skipping the rest of this post, remember I put black lingerie in the titel. It is there for a reason.
We have actually had some good days. Not overtly sunny, but quite okay nonetheless. There were parachutes in the sky, frappuccinos and cold beers in the sun, and Italian ice cream tastings whilst dipping my toes in the canal. Most of all though, there were strawberries on my balcony. I buy them at the local market, and eat my way through tons of them.
These somewhat sunny days have however been the exception for the past few weeks. Most days were cloudy and grey, and filled with rain. And even the sunny exceptions only seem able to exist by grace of the very summer 2012-specific rule that every day should end like this:
It is for this reason that I have been taking many late night walks in raging thunderstorms lately. I love rain and am possibly an even bigger fan of thunder and lightning. There is nothing as good as braving a storm after a long and hot, clammy day.
Apparently, I am not the only one who feels like this. As I was slowly making my way back home on one of these walks, I was nearing a whorehouse a few streets from my apartment. With about twenty meters to go, its doors flung open and out stepped one of the whores, wearing nothing but black lingerie. With her was a guy I assumed to be her client, and together they laughed and danced in the rain.
Ignoring the fact of their very probable earlier activity, they almost seemed little children. Naïve and happy, without a care in the world. The fact that the man was wearing something that closely resembled black lingerie as well, did somewhat mess with the idyll.
Both the strange sweetness and the absurdity of the situation made me smile. I wiped it of my face and looked the other way as I passed them. I am known to have trouble predicting the reaction of men that just step out of whorehouses. Especially if they are wearing lingerie.
Being beaten to death by a man who took your encouraging 'it is a lovely evening, isn't it?' kind of smile for a mocking one because he happened to be wearing women's undies? That might just be the saddest death imaginable.
I did not dare taking pictures, but I made it home just fine.
