Adore it as people bend and contort their bodies to avoid touching my rain tainted body as I enter the office. Somewhat understandable, as the rain might have rehydrated the dried venom secretion residue that covers my body.

Wringing out my Peter Bagge "What's the use?" t-shirt in the employee washroom sink. Co-worker asks if its raining outside. Nope, just in the lobby. Dork executive class.

Sweet marmalade I love certain bits of nature. Splashing around in a summertime shower is a definite certain bit. If I was made out of confectioner's sugar I'd tremble in fear like the majority of the populace that apparently believes they were created in a pastry shop. Wet doesn't bother me. Wet is good. Plus, it's lucifer's anvil out there today. Shivering, if actually occurs, is a blessing for the love of Neptune.

The block in the St. Louis hood I grew up on could not drain the water efficiently during a torrential downpour. The county of U. City always was slow in clearing all the debris that clogged the street sewers. Area heavy with oaks and maples always had flora jetsam from the fall before, mounds of fallen foilage and sticks, makeshift beaver dams. My sis and I and two brothers from three houses down, to the horror of many of the Jewish and Black families on our street, would go and freak out midstorm in the ankle deep river that formed. Crazy ass gentiles running amok. We treated it as our emancipation from the swelter. Air conditioning is a frill when you are eating guvment cheese sammiches.

So, pleased am I that people are shooting the accusatory looks of crazy my way. Dripping wet at my keyboard. Dripping wet good. I will never complain about dripping wet. I may just go back outside and freak the rain on Tenth Avenue. Actually, yep, later.