It’s been gorgeous here for weeks—temperatures in the high 70s, sunny days, no humidity.

Then, on the day my parents are set to arrive, it starts raining. And not just ordinary, “oh what? these sprinkles?” rain.

Here’s a rundown of the weather predicted for the next four days, the approximate duration of their stay: Partly sunny, a thunderstorm. Cloudy, heavy thunderstorms. Cloudy, rainy, breezy, cooler. Mostly cloudy, thunderstorms possible. Mostly cloudy, rain possible; windy.

Awe-some.

Looking for good news on the next page of the paper, I’m hit with the following advisory: “Do expect major metro delays this weekend, green/yellow line riders. Metro is advising riders to prepare for delays of up to 45 minutes on the Green and Yellow lines this weekend because of track work.” I live on the yellow line.

You can’t see it, but I’m flipping off the District of Columbia at this precise moment. I’m also imagining some very harsh expletives that I keep to myself not out of cultured temper, but out of fear for the google hits I’d receive.

I need to get out of this town.