Two weeks ago, when I dressed up my jeans with a beaded empire-cut blouse with black satin straps, a three-row onyx bracelet and huge mabe pearl earrings with an onyx and gold outline for the Chalk anniversary party, it rained on my way to the jeepney station at Makati Ave. I didn’t go.
The following week, I wore my plum ruffle-collared blouse with clip-on pearls and my Goldfish pearl brooch, and the sun was so hot I had fever for the next three days.
Just yesterday, I wore a shirtdress so that I won’t look like a slob while watching Miranda Priestly, and I had not even gone 100 meters from my office building when strong winds and rain hit and wouldn’t subside immediately. Because my cinema tickets were already purchased, I made a mad dash for a jeepney to the MRT.
Granted, I may have poor judgment when sudden weather changes happen. Waiting it out was never a habit. And sticking to routines worsens the situation. Usually, after I’m drenched, I realize that I should have gotten the nearest available ride. But the point is, God, do you really have to rain on my parade?
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