The Shrivel Factor

*** continued from previous post ***

Here is the really funny part: The people in my particular group would wander away, one at a time, AND PUT ON FRICKIN' SHIRTS AND JACKETS AND HOODIES, then come back to tag-team each other, so the under-dressed could go put on some more appropriate clothes while the idiot from THE STATES gets soaked.

Bastards.

And you know why they acted so unconcerned? THEY HATE AMERICANS! No, that's not true. They had things like . . . oh, I don't know . . . maybe HEATERS, AND ROOFS, AND DEFROSTERS, AND CUPS OF COFFEE IN LITTLE DOOR HOLDERS, and NICE SMELLING AIR FRESHENERS so that the rain was nothing more than a small bother.

Then, as if the cake were not sweet enough - thunder and lightning!

"Whoa," my scooter-selling friend remarked, "dats a bit of weather dere, eh?"

I wanted to shout "Ya think?" but I wasn't ready to alienate an ally just yet. Water was now dripping from my nose. Cascading. A nasal waterfall to rival Niagara. (Niagara. . . Viagra. What the hell?) My glasses were covered in streaks, and the parts that weren't dripping were foggier than Keith Richard's childhood memories. I could feel water running through my mesh, soaking my shirt, and beginning to drip into my 'nether regions'. I looked up at the sky. Bad mistake. Water poured into my nostrils, making me choke.

“Is it raining?", I gasped." Another flash of lightning, this one too close for comfort. "I hadn't really noticed," I added nonchalantly, as parts of me that are never supposed to be wet unless I'm swimming, bathing, or suffering a mild seizure, became saturated. Saturated, cold, and shriveling by the minute.


*** the journey continues tomorrow ***