Another one of my brilliant ideas.
I secretly always wish to get caught in a downpour no matter where I am or in what kind of attire.
Well, today it was more like a “mushy hail-storm” as I rode my bike home from dance class.
It was fun for about the first fifty-seven seconds as I coasted down the first hill, feeling the breeze on my face and the slightly therapeutic sting of rain-hail-sleet as it blasted me head on.
Then, as I neared the road, and my second hill, I realized this wasn’t so fun anymore.
Cars rushed by, spraying me with filthy slush from the gutter.
Peddling as fast as my short legs would allow, I finally made it to the sidewalk.
(Yes Dad, I had to ride on the sidewalk, sorry).
Then traversing through traffic, trying to avoid the big puddles, looking like I had just come from a mud-wrestling contest, and lost.
Wiping the remnants of precipitation from face, I quickly zipped around corners, not stopping at the stop signs, but not really caring either.
Main objective: get home without eating too much sludge.
Up my driveway and under the dry overhang of my apartment.
Locking up my bike, I strode inside to assess the damage.
It was worse than I thought.
Mud on face? Check.
Mud on pants? Check?
Mud on backpack, shoes, fest, hair? Check, check, check, check!
Laughing, because after all, I asked for it, I put on dry clothes, and the others went in a basket, labeled: To Take To Parent’s/Sister’s House, because I don’t have a washer.
Now, sipping tea, feeling warmer and much dryer, I give you a piece of my day.
Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, at least for the first fifty-seven seconds.
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