It’s my fault that it’s raining, says Stuart. He’s holding me entirely accountable. As he was leaving the house this morning and I was sleepily standing in the entrance hall in my peejays because he never leaves the house in the morning without me wrapping myself around him and covering him with kisses several times in the house and once on the landing, he went for the umbrella.
“No, it’s not going to rain, it’s just low cloud cover because of the high humidity and the cold front,” and I swear to God, I believed it. I heard the weatherdude say something like that, yesterday! On the television! I mean, he promised! So out of some deference for the weatherman and the fact that I have plans to take Stuart’s good friend Gemma to Central Park tonight to hear the NY Phil, I made Stuart leave that damned umbrella at home.
Consider New York’s rain as a token of my bravado, my hubris, and my inability to not believe everything I hear on television. Feel free to launch your vitriol at me from the comment box. Its hissing, spitting descent onto my head won’t really bother me. I’ve got my spare umbrella here in the office, see.

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