working it in a torrential downpour in Chelsea NYC

 

Lemme tell you, it was not merely raining the other night. It was a torrential downpour of epic proportions. When the monsoon started, Tom and I were outdoor dining a couple blocks up 8th Avenue. We thought we were clever because we'd brought umbrellas. It was like bringing one of those tiny metal screwdrivers you fix your eyeglasses with to a gunfight.

Luckily, there was a pretty sweet set up inside the eating cabin. Full overhead cover and pretty substantial walls. We were only wet I'd say on one extremity. Like my right leg was definitely on the damp side and Tom had a left shoulder problem.

The waiter, on the other hand, had more of an entire soaked head and torso situation ongoing. He dashed back and forth over the exposed sidewalk many times on our behalf. We left him a superlative tip. 

Meanwhile, we and the scattered other diners who had never met before discussed our evacuation strategies. First we all decided to delay our departure until the rain stopped. Except the rain did not stop. A puddle began to form under our table. My phone was running out of battery. It was rapidly becoming a serious first world problem. 

I calculated how ruined our shoes would be and how tiny our shirts might shrink if we made a break for it and pulled a runner. 

And then, as glorious as a star-spangled glitter bomb, a fabulous man struts across the avenue in high heeled shoes. He takes his time. He owns his drenched sparkles. It was a total flex. 

I wish I had a photo because he may have been the Sun King reincarnated. Or Queen as the case may be.

Tom and I looked at each other. We knew it was time. It was a sign from the gods.

We sprinted outside into a wall of water. It was like swimming. My jeans didn't dry out for three days.