“If this was a children’s book, it would be called Ted and Trix and the Torrential Downpour.”
“Or Ted and Trix Should Have Taken a Cab.”
It had seemed like a good idea to walk back to his place when we started. And it still seemed like a fine idea when it started sprinkling. And then it seemed silly to stop once we were halfway, even though it was pouring.
We had one umbrella between us, and it wasn’t helping much. And I wasn’t helping much by walking erratically, trying not to get my boots full of water.
“I have waterproof boots, but they aren’t as cute as these.”
“At least I think it’s slowed down.”
Which was practically a request to the heavens for the hardest rain they could muster. There were no longer rain drops at all, just solid sheets.
So by the time we did get to his apartment we were soaked and my boots were full of water and my hair was enormous. But it wasn’t so bad. My hair had stayed nice long enough for me to meet his mom and to realize she’s not terrifying but cute and would probably make you delicious dinner. And I get the feeling that I’m just one in a steady stream of girls, but I’m more comfortable with that than with this being a special occasion. And the boy held my hand for all three hours of The Merchant of Venice, the story of a Christian versus a Jew.