I knew this was going to happen.
It always does when it rains. Every morning, like today, when I wake to raindrops sliding down my foggy window overlooking the World Trade Center site in lower Manhattan I know I’m in for a fight that day. No, not a fight. A battle. Wait, no. A war. I’m in for a war. This is war.
I’ve lived here six years and I haven’t once owned an umbrella. Don’t even really know why. Call me cheap, lazy, unprepared, ignorant...whatever. But I will never own an umbrella, perhaps now more than anything, out of sheer spite. Maybe it’s my Colorado roots, where I’m conditioned to the fact that rain storms never last longer than it takes to eat a banana. You don’t need an umbrella in Colorado. Trust me. But in New York, yes, rain can last a long time, sometimes all day. Sometimes all week. I admit you probably need an umbrella if you’re going to live in New York. This is not a war on umbrellas. This is a war on you, Mr. and Mrs. Umbrella Terrorist.