Walking in the rain...

By Louise Froggett

At this time of year, I normally wear corduroy pants when venturing outside. They are relatively warm, but not overly so, and are fine unless it rains. When that happens, I wear jeans with rain pants over top. The trick is in knowing when to do what.

Getting dressed in the morning shouldn’t be such an ordeal. A few days ago, I looked at the weather (two conflicting forecasts) and chose to wear jeans and rain pants. All through breakfast, I stared out the window, waiting for the rain to happen. Nothing. So, before heading outside, I changed into cords and prepared to go out. As usual, my husband asked what I thought he should wear (I wish he wouldn’t do that) so I told him what I was doing and he thought that sounded sensible. Of course, that’s not the way it worked out.

We headed out into the world, walking happily along Dallas Road, and it started to rain. As it was very light rain, we chose to pretend it wasn’t there. We were heading for Shoal Point, meeting friends there, and walking over for our morning coffee. The closer we got to their place, the damper we became. I could now feel wetness seeping through the cords and the pants sticking to my calf muscles. My husband and I began to natter, not really at each other, but we sorely needed to express our displeasure.

We collected our friends, M & L who were much more sensibly dressed, and continued our walk. By now, the rain is slithering off my waterproof coat and sticking to the front of my pants. The pants are beginning to glue themselves to my legs. And it’s cold! We are all marching along, silently muttering, when M suddenly exclaims, “My rain pants aren’t waterproof! I’m getting wet! I hate being wet!”

So, we all started walking faster since we were way past the point of no return. By now, my pants are really dragging against my legs and I feel like the crotch has to be way further south than when I started. By the time we staggered into the coffee shop, my pants are soaked, my gloves are soaked and I’m really unhappy about all this. No amount of coffee and danish is going to fix this!

We dragged ourselves to a table, and then went to order our snack at the counter. I look over and there is M, scrambling out of his rain pants in front of the service counter. His shoes are off and he’s hopping around like a crazy thing and he’s crabbing about his jeans being wet. Everyone else appears to be wet, so no one is paying any attention to the show.

As we had our snack and began to warm up, the conversation turned to waterproof clothes that aren’t waterproof. M is really perturbed about being wet, “I’m 66 years old…I’m too old to be wet like this…I’m never doing this again…next time I’m going to drive!” The rest of us are enjoying our warm drinks and the cookies/danish and are ignoring the huffing going on beside us.

After ¾ of an hour, we unhappily put on our outerwear, which is now really cold and uncomfortable, and head back out into the world. M & L go to a store to check out waterproof pants, though they didn’t find anything, and my husband and I scurry home. It had stopped raining and now the sun is shining brilliantly. I’m cold and wet and, naturally, I don’t have my sunglasses with me, so now I’m all squinty too.

Of course, the moral of the story is to be ready for all things all the time, even if it means you have to drag a carry-on sized suitcase everywhere you go.

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