Last night, headachey and strung out after a long day of painting and baking in the sun and turning green at "Super Size Me," roommate C. and I set out for a party given by one of my new coworkers in Georgetown. The sky had that weird thunderstorm-threatening tinge to it, and we were smart enough to bring a huge umbrella before we set out for the bus stop.
We, of course, were NOT smart enough not to wear a white tank top and the new white-and-black-striped skirt that we had just bought. In the middle of Dupont Circle 20 minutes later, as the half-dollar-sized drops turned into a solid sheet of vertical rain and the skirt clung to my legs and dragged on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, as we tried to hold the sides of the embattled umbrella out with our hands and became increasingly incapacitated by hysterical laughter, as we were literally brought to a full stop and couldn't go another step -- then it felt like maybe good things can happen, sometimes.
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