To Storm, or Not to Storm

Now I know what you’re saying. Not another blog about rain. But yes my friends. This is going to be another blog about rain.

We were cheated out of June - it rained practically every day. July was OK. But August has been one big threatening thunderstorm. Key word: threatening.

Mother-Nature-Dearest has been quite confused as of late. I think she’s suffering from an onset of dementia.

Or maybe she enjoys soliloquizing, à la Hamlet: To thunderstorm, or not to thunderstorm.
Or perhaps she’s volatile and Father Time did something to piss her off.

Who knows. But if I go on weatherchannel.com, or accuweather.com, or if I see on NY1’s Weather on the 1’s that there is a slight chance of thunderstorms one more time this month, I think I’ll scream.

Come ON Al Roker. Break out of that safe, secure mold, yo! Spice it up a bit! Be original! No one wants to hear for the umpteenth time that there is that there is a chance of thunderstorms, later this afternoon.

Least of all me.

Alas, there has been several times this month that I've been down the street without an umbrella, so to say. And, as you can only imagine, it ain’t pretty.

Of course I was forewarned - if you can call that commonplace, blasé phrase, that slight chance, a warning. Fine, I guess when it comes down to it, it was my own fault. 



But seriously, what pedestrian in their right mind actually wants to carry around an umbrella all day when there’s but a negligible chance it’ll come in handy?

Not I!

In fact, I always laugh when I see people wearing rain boots on a SUNNY day, or carrying those long (albeit cute) umbrellas when there’s not a cloud in the sky. I think what silly, high-strung, Nervous Nellie’s they are, then pat myself on my über nonchalant back

Tsk, tsk, though. My bad. Cause as much as I haterate on those ninnies, the joke forever seems to be on me.

Right before a downpour, the air gets eerily quiet - I’m talking cab-honking-less quiet. It feels hot and electric on your skin. Lightning bolts shatter the darkness of the sky. Piercing thunder rips through your eardrums. And then...and then.
And then, when the clouds feel they’re properly positioned, the rain commences. But it’s not just “rain” - that’s the understatement of the century. Nor does “downpour” seem adequate.

We’re talking Niagara Falls. Yes. It’s like that natural wonder was suddenly beamed from Upstate New York and is falling directly on Manhattan; sheets of opaque water tumble from the sky.

Sure, I’ve enjoyed the rain. I’ve jumped through the puddles and felt four years old and carefree. I’ve pretended I was Carrie and thought I might chat up a Man-hattanite under an awning. I’ve welcomed the cooling-off factor (even though it often feels like I’m being spritzed by a fire hydrant).

But mostly, I just hate my too-cool-for-umbrella-carrying self. When I get caught in that not-so-slight slight chance of a storm, it sucks. Suuuuuuucks.

Especially when I'm wearing a see-through dress and there’s no chivalrous Richard Gere with an umbrella to rescue me right back.