I fear I might be denouncing my statehood. Today I took a step that defines me as more of a "New Yorker" than and "Oregonian." In fact, I hate that I'm actually admitting it to you -- I bought an umbrella.
At first, I vowed that I wouldn't use it unless necessary. Once the winds picked up and whipped the rough rains in my face, I open the said umbrella. It only took a few minutes before I fell victim to the doom of a cheap purchase: the dome flew back, allowing the brutal rain drops to douse my hair... while I fought to pull back the umbrella to its proper placement. Images of crude scenes from 'Mary Poppins' danced through my head.
This is no Oregon rain.
I decided I would tough it out.
My friend, Stephanie, and I went to a movie tonight. We met up and headed to the theater at Times Square. Her first question, "Where's your umbrella?" I had left it at home, proving that I was a true Oregonian and didn't need a silly, useless piece of black vinyl and wires. Fate took a vengeance on me. The rains fell down even harder and the puddles in the streets grew higher. My hair became more and more plastered to my face... and somehow, water began to rush down my back. The bottom half of my jeans displayed a wet, darkened blue hue... even more evidence of my defeat.
Now, I'm back at home. The first thing I checked: my lonely umbrella sitting alone in my room -- all dried out. I think next time I'll take him along, just so he'll feel as if he has something to do.