The Forecast Said “Showers.” The Sky Said “Drown Her.”

It started with one tiny raindrop.

Just one.

It landed directly on my forehead as I stepped outside, which I chose to interpret as Mother Nature affectionately booping me on the head.

“Aw,” I thought. “A little rain.”

That was adorable.

Ten minutes later, Mother Nature was apparently trying to drown me.

The weather forecast had said there was a “30% chance of showers,” which I now understand means there is a 30% chance meteorologists know what the hell is going on.

When I left the house, the sky was grey but harmless-looking. I considered bringing an umbrella, but decided against it because I enjoy making terrible decisions and then acting surprised by their consequences.

Besides, I was only going for a short walk.

This sentence has ruined more lives than anyone realizes.

I was approximately twenty minutes from home when the sky suddenly turned the color of impending doom.

The wind picked up.

The trees started thrashing around.

A newspaper flew past me at approximately Mach 4.

And somewhere in the distance, thunder growled.

I looked toward home.

Then I looked at the sky.

“We can work this out,” I whispered.

The sky responded with lightning.

Negotiations had failed.

The rain started gently enough.

Plip.

Plip.

Plip.

Then somebody upstairs apparently kicked over the celestial bathtub.

Within seconds, I was soaked.

Not damp.

Not wet.

Soaked.

There is a very specific point during a rainstorm when you stop trying to stay dry because every single part of your body has already surrendered.

My hair was plastered to my face.

My shirt had become a second skin.

My shoes were making the unmistakable squish-squish-squish sound of footwear that had accepted its new career as an aquarium.

Naturally, this was when a car drove through a puddle beside me.

A tidal wave hit me from the knees down.

I just stood there.

Because what was I going to do?

Get wetter?

Congratulations, Honda Civic. You have defeated me.

I continued walking.

The rain got harder.

I tried sheltering beneath a tree, forgetting that trees are essentially giant leafy funnels designed to collect rainwater and drop it directly down the back of your neck.

Excellent.

I stepped back onto the sidewalk.

That was when the wind turned my umbrella inside out.

Oh yes.

At some point during this disaster, I had actually found an abandoned umbrella beside a bench.

For approximately forty-seven seconds, I believed my luck had changed.

Then the wind transformed it into a satellite dish.

I stared at it.

It stared at me.

Neither of us knew what to do next.

So I folded it badly and carried its mangled corpse home.

By now, my dignity had left the group chat.

A woman drove past in a warm, dry SUV.

We made eye contact.

She gave me the sympathetic little smile people normally reserve for injured wildlife.

I smiled back.

Everything was fine.

I was simply walking through a biblical event wearing sneakers.

Then came the puddle.

I saw it.

I attempted to step around it.

My foot slipped.

For approximately half a second, I performed a complicated interpretive dance involving both arms, one leg and several swear words.

Somehow, I remained upright.

I celebrated too early.

My next step went directly into the puddle.

The water went over the top of my shoe.

There are moments in life when something inside you changes forever.

This was one of them.

I stopped walking.

I looked down at my foot.

Then I deliberately stepped into the puddle with the other shoe.

Because balance matters.

Eventually, I reached my street.

Home.

Beautiful, wonderful home.

I could practically hear the dry towels calling my name.

Then the rain stopped.

Completely.

Not gradually.

Not politely.

It just stopped.

The clouds parted.

The sun came out.

Birds started singing.

A rainbow appeared.

I stood on the sidewalk dripping like a recently retrieved shipwreck while the entire neighborhood transformed into a Disney movie.

A neighbor walked past carrying absolutely no rain gear whatsoever.

“Beautiful now!” she said cheerfully.

I considered violence.

Instead, I smiled.

“Gorgeous.”

I walked inside, peeled off approximately fourteen pounds of wet clothing and poured water out of one shoe.

Then I made coffee, wrapped myself in a blanket and sat by the window.

Outside, the sun was shining.

The birds were chirping.

Everything sparkled.

It really was beautiful.

And as I sat there enjoying my coffee, I realized the rainstorm had taught me an important lesson.

Always carry an umbrella.

Check the radar before leaving home.

Never trust a 30% chance of rain.

And if Mother Nature ever affectionately boops you on the forehead with a single raindrop…

Turn around.

She’s loading the cannon.

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