"I control the rain," he said.
You had no reason not to believe him.
"So when you're on an elevator and someone asks if you ordered all this rain you say yes?"
"I try to keep it a secret in order to keep from being abducted by governments."
You were smitten.
"He controls the rain," you said.
"What's that pay?" your Dad asked.
You forwarded this question to him.
"It pays nothing. It's simply a power with which I have been cursed. Every once in a while I must keep the water levels at a manageable mark and so I have no choice but to ruin people's hair and outfits," he said.
"I like the rain," your Dad said. "So you have my blessing. Tell him he kind of overdid this year though. Except for in the southwest."
"Oh I don't control the rain in the Southwest region. That's this guy Max's turf. I'm strictly mid-Atlantic," he says. But you already knew that.
"So we can get married?" he asks.
You nod and cry. He touches one of your tears.
"I wish I could control the rain that falls from your eyes," he says. "I would institute of a drought that would last for decades."
You almost tell him that Max, the guy who controls the Southwest rainfall and who you actually dated for a while, was able to keep you from crying for months on end. He used kindness. But you don't want him to be threatened.
"Can you make it sunny on our wedding day?" you ask.
He tells you not to ask him about work, then you kiss, even though you didn't like his answer.
Happy He Controls The Rain Day!