It’s a gross, soul-sucking nightmare, the thought of which is enough to make you board yourself up inside at the first hint of a drizzle.
Not so in Chatsworth. As a kid, I’d run outside whenever it rained, my bare toes squelching in the grass and long hair tangling wildly, face upturned. It felt like a cleansing when the mid-Atlantic skies opened up and laughed down at us. I’d tumble back inside, sopping wet, and flop down with a book to air-dry.
On the other hand, when I come in from a downpour in New York, a scowl, a stress headache, and a pair of soggy trouser cuffs come in with me. It’s one of a thousand resent-able inconveniences you encounter living in NYC. You bet your ass I resent it, but it’s just another small price I pay for having had the gall to pack up life in Chatsworth and set out for The Big City.