I left work with a couple of new friends. When we reached the front door one of them remarked that “it’s really coming down out there.” Indeed it was. We checked our bags and found that we only had two umbrellas for the three of us. Perhaps being chivalrous or perhaps being terribly old fashioned (and potentially sexist) I suggested that the two younger ladies carry on and not worry about me. Luckily for me they declined.
So in and adventure more fit for a sitcom that a rainy Tuesday evening, we headed out to the subway station with a hastily decided upon strategy of me between two umbrellas.
It started out quite good, but we ended up facing changes in wind direction, narrowing sidewalks, puddles that seemed more like lakes, aggressive bus drivers who seemed intent on drowning us with waves, and a broken strategy. We were forced to dodge all these things while trying to maintain or coverage. Puddles separated us. Random walkers forced us into corners. The Puddles forced us to watch our steps.
I found the whole thing quite fun, actually. Maybe it was like being a kid again. Maybe it was like once we’d accepted the folly of the thing and knew we were well and truly in it that we decided to let go and have some fun. We weren’t stepping in puddles purposefully, but there was a sort of madcap dash about it.
We got wet of course. I don’t know who got it worse, but I don’t think that was the point.
I wouldn’t normally consider getting caught in the rain with a substandard number of umbrellas as Today’s Perfect Moment, but that is wasn’t exactly a normal day, was it?