After a sunny, but windy weekend in SF, today's killer combo of cold dampness really did feel like your best friend once again proving his callowness by issuing you an unjustified Wet Willy.
I was told about SF's "rainy season" but didn't deal out the respect I should've. I thought I could get by for a few months without gloves or a pair of Wellington's. I thought, "I lived in Prague during the Spring. How bad could it be?"
Although it's not as bad as Prague (it even snows regularly in March in Praha), it still sucks when you're waiting for Muni with wet toes and the sun still hasn't made an appearance for the day.
So there I was. Hands submerged in denim pockets having a flashback to November when a visiting friend told me to buy a pair of Wellies:
"Yo those are on sale. You should get those."
"Nah, I don't need em. I'm cool."
"You should cop those."
"Nah, I'm good."
But I'm not good am I? No. I'm wet and disgruntled. I'd rather be gruntled but I'm not. Why? Because I'm wet and cold.
That combo is my nemesis. Throw in windiness and you've met my Weather Apocalypse/Terrible Triumvirate of Torture.
So I'm thinking that with my next spendable paycheck I may have to revisit the Marc Jacobs store for some Wellies.
Cold feet=vexed Jamaal
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