I love the rain. When I don't have to drive through it, anyway. Yesterday, my husband and I were driving home from church, and we hit a street that was starting to get pretty gnarly. Rain was spraying up over our hood, and my SO finally asked if we should turn around and head in the other direction, to his parents' house, which was closer. Honestly, I kept hearing that annoying standard reporter's voice in my head: "If you can't see how deep the water is on the streets, it's
safer not to try it. Turn around, and find a safe place until the water level goes down. I'm Sue Suzerain, reporting for . . . "
So, yes, I asked my husband to turn around. As we were busting our slow U-y, I looked further down the road we were currently leaving behind, and saw a car, stuck and stalled.
I headed to class this morning in a light drizzle. However, in Statistics, it was announced that we were to expect more of the same as the day before for this afternoon. My professor was correct. I sludged to my car, sans cute umbrella and matching - adorable - rainboots. Once I closed the door and breathed a sigh, I realized everything was soaked: me, my clothes, my flip-flopped feet, my backpack, my purse, and - oh yay- I was dripping steadily all over my car interior. The rain was coming down, but not as hard yet as it could have been and probably will be, so I grit my teeth, turned my defrost to blasting, and slowly eked my way out of the parking lot and to my apartment, where I promptly changed into dry sweats, and am pondering a cup of hot chocolate or maybe just a nice burrito with salsa.
Until next time: stay dry, my friends!