Some days, you were just meant to stay in bed

This morning when I left for work, it was in the midst of a downpour. And by downpour, I don't just mean heavy rain. I mean water descending in a steady continuum, so that the individual drops can't be differentiated from each other. And I must have been using a trick umbrella, because it was offering me no protection whatsoever. By the time I completed the 10 minute walk to the station, the rim of wetness at the bottom of my jeans had risen till my knees.

On the five minute walk to work at the other end, I hadn't counted on a mini-flood in the West Village. But such it was. And the wind was playfully gusty, so that by the time I actually reached the building, the only parts of me that weren't dripping puddles were my head and shoulders. At one point the wind got so strong, that for a second I thought I might have a Mary Poppins moment. But instead my umbrella just turned itself inside out every few seconds. Not so cool. Then a spoke sprang loose and twanged me a solid one on the forehead. It would have been pretty funny, if it hadn't been just so damn pathetic.

But I wasn't one to complain - yet. Rain can be a beautiful and romantic thing, and getting soaked to the bone once in a while never did anyone any harm.

But what did I find when I got to the office? That it was Yom Kippur and almost no one was in. Great. So there I was, tenacious, conscientious HR bod, fought my way to the office through parted seas, and now there's no one to HR-ise.

So I dried my hair (which is no mean feat under a hand-dryer, but it helps if you're only yay-high), made myself a steaming mug of chocolate, and settled down in my office to read the news.
Was just about to start figuring out how to beat the natural elements home, when I got a call from a housing broker. Did I want to trek from the West Village all the way to the Upper East Side through the deluge to see an old, tiny, overpriced apartment right now? No, not really. But when you're looking for a new home, there are some bitter pills you have to swallow.

So I trudged through hell and high waters from the West Village all the way to the Upper East Side to see an old, tiny, overpriced apartment.

By the time I got back to the office a couple of hours later, I was soaked, shivering and quite the bedraggled state. "Oh, Honey!!" Fran exlaimed when she saw me. "You look miserable!". And she sat me down and brought me a mug of hot coffee. For the first time today, I could feel myself smiling.