I was marching dutifully home from my bus stop, staring pensively at the trees quivering around me in the gentle breeze as, out of seemingly nowhere, a barage of rain drops fell upon me in a hideous tornado. Emitting a sound that seemed half-way between a mouse being trodden on and an angry jungle cat whose mewling young has been snatched from under her paws, I broke into a gentle trot and, gasping, reached a canopy of leaves.
The rain then abruptly stopped and I emerged, soaking wet and looking into the beaming sunlight like one that has been living underground in an earthen den and has come face to face with daylight for the first time in five years. Grumbling, I shouldered my purse and notebooks and slowly walked to the sidewalk as hundreds of cars whizzed by me, spraying water from the wet street into the air in a glittering wave.
Smelling the muddy smell of fresh rain and the bitterness of reawakened mold, I reached the crosswalk. I pushed the button and the light flickered red after what seemed like an eternity later.
The stoplight, however, switches from red to green faster than you can say 'Why, hello stoplight old chum!' Which leaves you, the innocent pedestrian, only halfway across your destination and standing in the median as cars whoosh by and narrowly avoid bringing you to a sudden and tragic death. This being the case, one must scamper like a small mammal into the street just as the light switches to yellow; which was precisely what I did, precariously balanced on high heels as my wet hair whipped into my face like limp noodles.
I then collapsed inside and went on the internet even though I had sworn my allegiance to the diety that helps homework procrastinators. Speaking of, I suppose I really should get off.
Toodles, then.
