Actually…

I love pina coladas. And getting caught in the rain. Except without the pina coladas part. So I actually had a fine time traipsing around with Animal's face on my ass for all the world to see. Well, all of the East Village anyway.

My wet frolic last night was interrupted by a cute little old man who stopped me on the street and insisted I take his umbrella. I tried to explain that I was already just about as wet as a person could be, and an umbrella at this point would be silly. He pshawed me and tried to thrust the umbrella into my hand. I told him that, really, I love to run around in the rain. He looked at me like I was crazy, pshawed me again and pointed to another umbrella near his feet.

I have another, he said. Please, take it.

Why this man was using a seriously broken umbrella when he had a perfectly functional one at his feet is beyond me. I thanked him profusely and set out with the very cumbersome umbrella, which was held open with a spring and part of a broom handle, also doubling as the umbrella handle. I kid you not.

I was confident I'd find some poor, wet soul who desperately needed an umbrella. Pay it forward and all that crap. I did not -- it would appear the East Village was more prepared for a thunderstorm than I. When I went into the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine, I rested the umbrella against the doorframe, hoping someone would take it. No one did. But I left it there, confident some sad, soaked person would stumble upon it and consider it a gift from God. On the way home, three people exclaimed, "You're wet!" Yes, yes I was.

Later that night, I was having a little IM with Curly. She remarked that thunderstorms made her wish she had a girlfriend waiting at home to make her dinner and snuggle. Interesting -- they make me wish I had someone to frolic in the rain with.