I'm a very poor sport about rain. Yes, I know we need it desperately. I just wish it didn't happen during the day. Yesterday, it was cozy though snuggled in bed with 10 good books and my dog Purl at my feet but I was restless. Ya know, I just want to put a flannel shirt on and comfy old jeans and sit in a dark dive bar in the afternoon. Is that weird of me? Whatever. So we went to Filippe's in Little Italy where it is always dark inside and kitchy Chianti bottles hang from the ceiling with names handwritten on their straw jackets. Oh the table clothes are red and white check and the walls are panelled circa 1958. They serve full carafes of cheap Chianti for under $12. We call it grape juice since it doesn't pack much of a punch or taste like much. And my dear husband, indulged me. We ate anti pasta and meatball sandwiches with melted provolone on sub rolls. And it was the perfect thing to do. I came home heartened and sat and knitted for hours thinking...the rain isn't that bad after all.