Why does it always raaaaaiiin on me?

The Scene: Amsterdam in early June. It is raining very heavily. Large puddles are forming on the cyclepaths, and people take cover in doorways and shops. A girl is cycling on a brown bike with yellow roses and a bicycle bell in the form of a ladybird. She is on her way home from evening class, and she is hungry. Underneath a viaduct she stops and takes out her phone.

Girl: Hi, I would like to order your vegetarian pizza with the asparagus for delivery at half past eight, please. No, that's all. Yes, it's a houseboat, the second door, without a name plate. Yes, I guess the delivery boy does know me by now!

The girl hangs up and keeps cycling. She has a fairly long way to go and the rain seems to be getting worse and worse. Small puddles start forming in her Allstars, and her glasses are of no use anymore. When she gets home, the Girl runs to the letterbox, which contains a big cardboard parcel and a newspaper. Once inside, she peels off her clothes one by one (why did she wear layers today?) and dumps them on the floor. She gets into the shower, savouring each and every hot drop of water. She notices her fingers have become wrinkly from the rain. As she gets out of the shower she hears a knock on the door. She pays the pizza delivery guy, sits down on the sofa and enjoys her food and a slightly trashy novel.

When the food is gone, the Girl opens the cardboard parcel. It contains a graphic novel about Johnny Cash. She sits down again, opens the book and starts reading.

Lights fade out.

Today

Last night my great uncle in South Africa died.
I did not know this until this morning at work when I read an email my grandmother had sent me last night. I am not very sad about the loss of my great uncle as he lived in South Africa all my life and if I have ever met him, I don't remember, but he's my Oma's brother, and there's only one brother left now, so she was understandably quite upset.
It was a normal work day for me but after the (quite short) conversation with my grandmother I found it very hard to concentrate on work. I kept thinking about how sad she sounded on the phone and how I could do nothing to help her (it takes half a day to get to my grandparents from door to door).
In the end I took a half day off work and went to my mother's, where I had accidentally left my wallet last Sunday. She had work to do so she kicked me out and I went to see a film. Strangely, the simple concept of the film, with a wedding at the end, really cheered me up.
The best thing of the day, however, came when I got home. On the grass near where I park my bike was the knuffel keychain I got from Leni when I went to visit her. I thought I had lost it, but there it was, damaged but still very intact and recognisable.
It's always nice to come home to such a beautiful metaphor.