If it’s raining in San Francisco, the world must be coming to an end. Which isn’t much of an exaggeration. Not only is Donald Trump our new president, but this has also been an absolutely brutal winter. Hardly a day above 60 degrees. Nighttime temps in the low 40s. And no end in sight.

I usually enjoy inclement weather, but enough is enough. I haven’t experienced a winter this unpleasant since the winter of ’99, when I was holed up in a roach-infested apartment in Birmingham, Alabama. And it wasn’t even very cold that year …

Last week, my shift at Baby Co. was covered for a few days, so I took the opportunity to go to work. After all, diapers aren’t cheap.

On Wednesday afternoon, in the pouring rain, Colin and I carpool into The City. The high winds on the Bay Bridge blow water sideways. We crack the windows to release our cigarette smoke, but we’re immediately pelted with errant raindrops.

“We be Trumpin’,” Colin quips.

Read the rest here.