So, this happened to me a few days ago.
I was in the local library. When I was about to leave, I noticed that rain had started to pour to to the ground, from the sky. Literally.
Being someone who loves the raw power of rain, I, naturally, stepped outside. I took my backpack and bag full of books, took my bicycle and drove to the rain.
The rain pounded me. I felt alive, and laughed (a fake laugh). I cycled, until I thought that some books inside the bag might get wet. I drove to a nearby diner, and rearranged the order. I also dried my hands and few of the book covers. Then I continued on. I drove easily. Fast.
Then my feelings started to mild down, like the rain. Nevertheless, I was happy. I thought to myself: Does any of those people, that I see right now, feel the way I do right now? Anyone?
Or something like that. I came to the conclusion that it`s improbable, but not impossible.
As I started to reach my home, I started get tired. But I had gone trough that route (probably) hundreds of times. Maybe less. I haven`t counted all that precisely. That`s why I didn`t mind. Besides, it`s only 10-14 kilometers in total. Not much ( Even if I totally think that it`s more than many can cycle trough. Which is true. But then again, I could never cycle trough 40 kilometers in an hour or two, so I shouldn`t brag. )
Then I came home (dad passed me by in a car, and we greeted eachother with wawing hands (or maybe we didn`t wawe `em)). I drove the bike/bicycle to the place where they are kept, and stepped inside. Sogging wet. I saw my mother, who wasn`t, as I expected, all that happy about what I had done. I didn`t mind all that much. But then she pointed out that the bag and the backbag don`t hold water completely...and slight fear and disbelief started to creep to my mind...
I took off my clothes (not my underwear, though), and put on a bathrobe. I took the bags, and took the books outta them. I sorted them out to not that moist, and a little more moist books. All the while, mom yelled at me, and called me stupid. She was right. But because I don`t want to hear myself called stupid over and over again, I closed the door, and kept on sorting.
Then, when I had done that, I wondered with tiny panic in my head, how to dry them. Mom had cooled down, and gave me a curling iron, which blows hot air. I dried a few of them books. But it wasn`t all that effective (only on the case of one book). I took rest of them to the sauna (as my mother told me to...), where I let them dry off.
After a few hours, everything was as good as it can be. The books were (and are) dry, even if the pages are wrinkled.
But then again, what library book wouldn`t have stuff like this happened to them. What of them wouldn`t have food stains on them? Not many. So, I shouldn`t be blamed that much, right?
No. I mustn`t justify or say that it`s not a bad thing. That`s wrong.
It`s not the worst thing that can happen to a few books, but not the best things either. That`s why I mustn`t do it ever again.
But if I will...well, it shows that I haven`t learned of my mistake (or something else). And then I have to use the curling iron again.