Rain...

It poured down at the weekend, the Missus commented on the miserable weather and I admitted it was all my making.

She looked at me, puzzled.

'What do you mean it's all your making?'
'I caused the downpour.'
'How?'
'Well you know the Boy brought a rainstick back from Australia?’
‘A rainstick?’
‘Yes. An Aboriginal hollow stick with painting on the outside and sand on the inside.’
‘Right…’
‘Well I went into his bedroom yesterday to drop washing off and I picked up the rainstick and gave it a good shake – and, hey presto, it’s chucking it down. Ergo it's all my doing’
‘You do realise all the weather forecasters said it would bucket it down this weekend. And all the weather reports in the papers predicted the same thing too.’
‘Prediction, schmediction. I did it.’
‘So you’re actually claiming your previously unmentioned shamanistic powers and a bit of tourist tat provoked a downpour?’
‘Yes.’
‘A downpour I don’t like because I want to go out today and not get soaked?’
‘Heap powerful magic!’
‘That's a Native American Indian stereotype and not Aboriginals you clot!’
‘Us shamans are all brothers irrelevant of skin colour.’
‘Well if you did cause it it’s clearly just something else that I can blame you for. Idiot!’

Some arguments are just not worth winning.