My terrible, horrible, no good, very wet commute

My otherwise dull and muted wardrobe comes to life on rainy days. I slip on my hot pink rain boots, zip up my magenta raincoat and pop open my bright blue umbrella. And by “comes to life,” I mean makes me look manic.

In most situations, I would never think to mix my pinks and carry a blue umbrella, but I somehow justify it because it’s raining. As if a little rain excuses my wretched appearance. 

Rainy days make my already awful commute that much more awful. This morning was no different.

And so it started on my way to the bus stop. 

As I crossed Tremont St., I rolled my ankle and nearly face-planted in front of a line of impatient and judgmental commuters, sitting comfortably in their warm, dry cars. I winced in pain but carried on across the street as if my jerk was a perfectly natural movement.

As Ellen Degeneres put it, pain takes a backseat to embarrassment.

How, exactly, did I roll my ankle, you ask?

 

Well first of all, I have play dough for ligaments. My ligaments have as much elasticity as a fat man’s underwear band. So all it takes is for a small pebble to get underfoot and I’m down for the count.

Secondly, I evidently thought I was chic when I bought my rain boots, because I bought rain boots with a wedge. Yes, they’re hot pink. Yes, they have a wedge.

And yes, my ankles and my pride regret that decision every time it rains.

This morning, my fellow commuters and I were accompanied by not one, not two, but three baby strollers. (In retrospect, riding around in a 2-door, Plum-colored Dodge Shadow for most of my childhood wasn’t that bad. Or was it?)

As if sitting on an odiferous, dirty bus for an hour isn’t bad enough, I had to listen to three screaming babies. Their pre-teen mothers, who are seemingly incapable of parenting, ignored the crying and carried on with their phone conversations.

Courtesy counts, pre-teen mothers excluded.

Shortly after the baby brigade boarded, a man sporting a faded Canadian tuxedo plopped down in the seat next to me. He slurped his large Dunkin Donuts iced coffee in my ear and sighed every five minutes, blowing his dragon breath in my direction.

Not to mention our thighs were touching. But that’s entirely my problem.

When I finally escaped the babies and breath, I started what ended up being a 10-minute-long battle with my umbrella.

I bought the umbrella at Shaw’s for $10. First mistake.

My second mistake was buying an umbrella. Boston is the windiest city in the country, (Chicago should really consider changing its nickname) so when you open an umbrella, you’re asking for trouble.

I had no control over my umbrella. People gawked as I struggled to turn it right side in. Or were they gawking at my ensemble? Or maybe they were gawking at the make-up running down my face as a result of having no protection from the rain.

I look really great today.

More to come on my commute.