Stop–it’s puddle time!

Today I am feeling rather smug about my rain pants. Not smug in an exclusionary, I-have-rain-pants-and-you-don’t kind of way. More like smug in a generally congratulatory fashion. I have rain paints. You have rain pants. We have rain pants. Hooray.

My rain pants are blue, gigantic enough to contain all the things that could possibly go under them, and so far (bated breath), extremely water proof.

Seriously, I’m not sure how I managed to bike for three years in Rain City without rain pants. Was I trying to be mean to myself? Maybe I didn’t see myself as the kind of person who could think for the future, who could anticipate hypothetical rough seas and make provisions. Rain pants always seemed expensive, out of reach.

No longer, chickens. These legs are high and dry. If on your morning commute, you happen to zoom past a slightly sweaty girl with a strange grin on her face, now you know why she’s smiling.


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