Looking out my windows, the cloud cover was thick, but white. I checked the app on my phone which said only 2% chance of rain. Knowing I’d be walking a lot I wanted my purse to be as light as possible, so I ditched my umbrella. It was a safe bet, I thought.
Don’t I know the house always wins?
For the second time this week, I was caught in a summer rainstorm. The first time was during a softball game. This time, though, I was consciously unprepared. I was mad at myself because I should know better than to trust some app, some radar vs. what I could see with my own two eyes. I’ve been here before in a very similar battle against my GPS. I need to put my trust in myself, not a machine.
As I trudged down Mass Ave, the rain pinged and sizzled against my hot skin. Relief, I thought. At least I’m heading home, I thought, I don’t care what I look like. Then the bus passed me, got stuck at a light, and I caught up to it without even trying. (And believe me, I’ve had to run for many a bus.) This was my exercise for the day. I didn’t want to get on the bus, besides the rain felt nice. I glanced at the sky. At the violet violence churning there. I got on the bus. As the doors closed, the rain graduated from sprinkle to deluge.
Me, a person who is always prepared, went out unprepared, but when the “worst” happened – the skies opened up – things worked out. It may not have been the best or smoothest or cleanest or driest, and it definitely was not the way I’d hoped it’d happen because bus = less exercise, but then again, dry > skinny.
I like those odds.