I watched the raindrops turn to silver, caught in his hair

Two nights ago, appa and I set out after dinner, upon a quest for ice cream. It had rained that evening and there were two lines of street lamps: those that glowed redly in the sky and the winking ones reflected in the puddles on the road. We took the dog with us, who is afraid of the dark. He dragged us from lamp to lamp, eager to reach and loth to leave. We had to cross the road and the traffic light seemed never to change. Car after car zipped past as we stared at the red light that screamed "Stop" across the night, and we obeyed. Finally, our patience was rewarded and the light turned green, and we crossed, dragging the reluctant dog with us.
I bought the ice cream from an old man who was just closing up his cart for the night. Butterscotch cones, that we took back to share with amma who was waiting at home. We walked faster this time; the ice cream was melting. A large, rather ghoulish stray dog chased us for a while, his barks quite distinct from the sound of the traffic. Panda kept looking back nervously and urging us to go faster.
We came home and peeled the paper off our melting cones and nibbled them while the dog panted at our feet. That night, I dreamt of butterscotch ice cream cone milkshakes.

Butterscotch ice cream cone milkshake
Take one butterscotch ice cream filled cone, the sort with tiny little butterscotch crisps on top of it. Peel off the paper and lick the ice cream that comes off along with it. Dump the cone into a blender, and follow it with a cupful of milk, two tablespoons of cream, and a squirt of butterscotch sauce. Pulse until the cone has disintegrated and everything looks thick and reluctant and unnaturally yellow. Pour into a tall glass and drink with your feet inserted under a panting dog.

Reader, I must be the most contrary of creatures. For weeks now, I've been looking up at clear blue skies and wishing it would rain. It finally did and I find myself longing for sunshine again. I find my moods curiously affected by the weather and this rain makes me ever so blue. I'm tired of pretending a cheerfulness I don't feel, so I've decided to give myself one evening to wallow. I'll begin by ranting here, move on to watching Dara O'Briain and laughing loudly when he decimates his front row, and perhaps end the night chatting with P, who can be counted upon to encourage my whims. 

If the mood so moves me, I shall perhaps address a few cutting remarks to the dog, who will pretend not to care.