I've got a deep secret few people understand and even fewer will admit to sharing. It's time to tell the truth: I love the rain, deeply and passionately<注1> and more than the sun. At least I live in the right place, famous for its damp weather and spawning<注2> its own genuine rainforest. I can't imagine living anywhere else than the Pacific Northwest. The sun shines so infrequently that my friends forgetswheresthey put their sunglasses. Gloomy clouds cause many people around here to suffer from seasonal affective disorder. Yet I welcome the rain.

　　Seattleites will say they like how rain keeps the city green, how clean the air tastes afterwards. My real reason for enjoying the rain is steeped in pure selfishness ?when it's mucky outside, I don't have to do anything. I can spend the afternoon curled up reading, build a fire and make a big pot of spiced tea. I can sleep in late, waking up occasionally to hear soothing patter<注3> on the roof, water racing down the gutter. Nobody expects me to leave my house or do anything overly productive. Maybe I'll invite a few friends over to watch an old movie or play a board game. Friends' expectations are low and easy to meet.

　　Summer in Seattle is beautiful but exhausting. The sunny, gorgeous<注4> weather and blue skies draw Seattleites from their cozy little homes, ready to dry out and have fun. People go hiking, biking, canoeing. Folks work in their gardens, wash their cars and attend outdoor concerts in the park all in the same day! The effort involved to throw a party ratchets up<注5> several notches<注6>, as people host barbecues and picnics and water-skiing parties.

　　It's a sin around here to not thoroughly enjoy every moment of every golden day. It's embarrassing to answer, "Did you get out and enjoy the sunshine this weekend?" with "No, I stayed inside." Co-workers frown and exchange suspicious looks; apparently I'm one of those rain-loving slugs<注7> they should sprinkle with salt. I tried lying, but my pale complexion<注8> gave me away.

　　Another mark in rain's favor is that my body doesn't betray me when it's cold and damp outside. Throughout the winter, people wear several layers, with perhaps several extra pounds here and there. In June I dig out my shorts to discover my thighs resemble cottage cheese. I dread buying a swimsuit, as consecutive<注9> horror and humiliation<注10> make me cringe<注11> in the dressing room.

　　Even my tastebuds<注12> prefer the rain. When it storms outside, it's time for steamy hot chocolate or even a soothing toddy. People devour hot, hearty meals, with lots of potatoes and savory sauces. This type of eating evaporates<注13> when the sun comes out; suddenly everyone offers salads and ice water and expects it to be satisfying.

　　It's time to publicly acknowledge<注14> that I love the rain, how it transforms my house into<注15> a cozy caveswheresI can spend the afternoon cooking and dreaming. It seems nobody else will admit to a love affair with the rain, nobody else will groan when it's hot outside and join me in a rain dance.

　　When the sun comes out I do greet it with a smile, slipping sunglassessintosmy purse and pulling a tank top out of my closet. Yet my comfortable sweaters and warm slippers beckon, making me wish for another wet, chilly afternoon. When the rain returns, I will grin even more ?am I the only one?