So you leave your house in the morning encircled by sunlight and warmth and happiness. Considering it’s the middle of January, all feels well in the world. You chirp in unison with the birds as you make your way to the city-bound tram, kicking your Boxing Day Sale sandals as you go, liking your chances of heading to the beach after work, or going for a walk on your lunch break.
Then, at approximately 1.01pm, the skies chuck a tantie and decide to wreak almighty havoc on you and everything you love like a two-year-old.
As the rain pours outside your office window, you look down at your pretty new sandals and dress and feel the weight of injustice wash over you. With the tiniest shred of hope, you check the contents of your bag. Sh*t. It’s happened. Again.
While half your office lets out an exasperated “NOOOOOOO”, the other half is suspiciously silent. There’s no need to panic for them, it seems. They are all more than prepared.
Which brings me to my point.
Our entire personalities are defined by our umbrellas, or lack thereof. Actually, who you really are becomes clear the moment rain hits the pavement.