“No, I am not going with you to a concert in the park! There’s a zombie horde out there! We’ll get bitten!”
“Hey, even the WHO says it’s not an apocalypse anymore. The zombies are endemic now. You can’t live your life in fear.”
“Your mom was eaten by zombies literally last week.”
“Yeah but she had diabetes. There’s always gonna be people with preexisting conditions who are gonna be more vulnerable.”
“At least wear your denim jacket to make it harder for them to bite you!”
“There was a study in the Lancet that said heavy clothes don’t work.”
“You know full well that what they found was that requiring heavy clothes didn’t work because people just got bitten at the times when they weren’t wearing them.”
“The author himself said jackets don’t work.”
“He said that after he was bitten and just before demanding our brains!”
“Okay, sheeple. Oh, hey Mom. We’re just heading out to the concert.”
“Wait, your mom is here? I thought she was…”
“BRAAAAIINSSS…”
“You LET HER BACK IN after she died and came back as a zombie!?”
“Dude, she’s not infectious anymore. She caught it like four days ago.”
“That is NOT how this works! What… DON’T HUG HER!”
“Bye Mom, love you…ow!”
“She just bit you, didn’t she.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Let’s go to the concert.”
Sound doesn’t travel as far through warm humid air, so the world feels a little more muted and calm. (Contrast this with the dry, dense air of a frigid winter day, when the sound of cars carries for miles as a dull growl.) The light is almost entirely diffuse thanks to clouds, rather than the sharp glare of a sunny day; your skin isn’t dried out and burned in the same way either. Public spaces aren’t as crowded. Indoor rooms are often lighted more gently as well without sharp sunbeams drawing lines. Add the sound of rain itself and the faint smell of petrichor, and the improvement in the air quality as the rain washes particulate and pollen into the gutters, and you get a perfect day to curl up with a book, a cup of tea, and a cat on your lap.