Splash.

I really miss rain more than I thought I would. The good part about having to leave for work so early in the morning is that it's the time of day when the mysterious smog/mist clouds have yet to be burned off by the inevitable sunshine, so it leaves room for the possibility of rain for about an hour. 

The other night I woke up to the sound of water rushing and got excited...rain? Could it be? Too curious to not see for myself, I looked out the window to find my charming, lanky, 7 foot landlord splashing around in the hot tub.

I was totally singing a different tune last summer, especially  when, after a week of hauling around a full sized Degas umbrella -- Lizzy and I invested in Impressionist umbrellas at Filene's Basement-- because it seemed like it might rain but never did, I woke up on a gray morning and decided that I wasn't going to let nature force me into calling my own bluff by toting an unnecessary umbrella on what would be, as the pattern had led me to believe, a perfectly glorious, sunny Boston day. 

So I left it at home and proceeded to march through the Public Garden towards Barbour. I barely reached the banks of the Swan Pond when, obviously, it started to drizzle. No big deal, I thought to myself. I can dry off once I get to work. Immediately after I finished this thought in my inner monologue, it started to pour. Torrentially. I was halfway to work by now, and illogically figured that being on time for work but soaked was better than being thirty minutes late. I can run for it, I reasoned. No sweat. 

Yeah, sure. Me. Run. Through the rain in a white dress and flip flops. . So I started to run, subtly, you know, ballerina running. The running caused me to promptly break a flip flop, which sealed the deal. I was going to be late for work. Hindsight is 20/20, but looking back, it was probably best that the damn shoe broke, otherwise i would have shown up at Barbour, waterlogged and essentially naked. Classy.

Anyway, I trudged back through the Garden, up Charles Street and Revere Street and down Garden Street, back home, all barefoot, of course, changed, grabbed the damn umbrella and headed back on my way. Except now, of course, the rain was over and my umbrella was useless. 

This is just one of many stories I've got as proof that I am, in fact, That Girl.