But then the adult side of my brain (the buzzkill side) kicks in, I get out of bed, mope my way through a shower, my morning coffee, and the hassle of having to grab my umbrella on the way out the door. If there was anyone around to see it, I might just fling myself onto the floor and have a full-blown tantrum. As mature adults are prone to do.
It’s also possible that I’m a tad dramatic when it’s dreary outside. Or in my waking hours.
Nonetheless, I dare say that I’m not alone in this if I’m judging the faces on my commute accurately. And at my previous job I used to work with a woman who – without fail – would call out sick every time it rained, complaining of a migraine or a head cold or the flu. Granted, she was the worst of the worst of humans, but it was always a Zen-like moment for me where I would realize that we really are more similar than different.
But let’s just take a few minutes to build our case, shall we? For example, the following things occur when it rains outside to all human beings*:
Your umbrella fails you. I’ve yet to meet an umbrella who hasn’t let me down. Except the Minnie Mouse umbrella I had when I was 7. But I let her down by leaving her at Colonial Williamsburg in my excitement to get my picture taken in the stocks, and if we’re being honest, I’ve never fully recovered. She had a little Minnie Mouse head as the handle and was red with white polka dots and she was the best. Also, I’ve assigned gender to an umbrella, so take all advice and opinions found on this blog with that in mind.
But other than Minnie Mouse, all other umbrellas try to attack you when they get sick of being rained on, flipping inside out and trying to blind you with one of those metal pointy sticks that makes the umbrella pop open. It’s poor engineering, if you ask me, and I don’t understand how we’ve figured out there was water on Mars and how my iPhone knows when I have a flight to catch, but I still get accosted by my own possessions every time it sprinkles.
Cars are a-holes with no manners. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve publicly curse-mumbled when I’m waiting to cross the street on the curb and a car decides that driving really fast into a deep, muddy puddle is the answer to all of life’s problems. That car can suck it, along with all of the other cars who see me standing there with mud-water on me and decide that I don’t look pathetic or wet enough.
And no, I haven’t learned to stand further back on the curb, thankyouverymuch.
Your feet get soaking wet no matter what. I don’t care if you have those fancy Hunter rain boots that look very fashionable AND supposedly keep your feet dry – at some point, you will be walking in puddles inside your own boots/shoes. This happens more when you’re not expecting it to rain, but if it rains enough, you may as well just set up local swim lessons in your footwear because rubber does not protect you from the elements of April showers.
Or I’m buying the wrong boots. One or the other, but if the latter prevents me from complaining about the rain, I choose to wear improper attire so I can be pathetic and gain sympathy from no one when I get to work.
Ok. So I can only think of three things because only those three things happened to me this morning. But I bet there are a ton others!
Therefore, I’m opening it up: what did I miss?
Love you, Spring! Happy Wednesday!
*these things may not happen to all or most human beings.