One man stands up against the weather

The Misanthrope by ETHAN CHATAGNIER

I have the worst umbrella ever. The awful thing works more like a funnel. As usual, this was all forgotten during the dry times, leaving me open to the rain that came pouring down Tuesday.

The small effort it would take to run to a drug store and pick up new one is overshadowed by two greater evils: foolish pride and foolish pragmatism.

This pride keeps me from admitting the rain bothers me, and the pragmatism asks how long the stretch of rain will last, anyway. Never more than a day or two is always my guess, even in the beginning of December.

So I continue with my sieve of an umbrella through winter after winter, enduring the sick squinch of wet socks with each step. And the wetter I get, the more I search for someone to blame.

Not always easy when the culprit is precipitation. I can’t blame the government. I can’t blame society. Really, the blame can only be placed on the rain itself.

That’s right, rain. After years in your shadow, I’m high-stepping out. I boycott rain, sleet and snow. While we’re at it, I boycott fog.

Unfortunately, this is completely ineffective. One man doing his anti-rain dance doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in this valley, and as much as I don’t like it, I can’t change the weather. The only bright side is having a column in which to complain about it.

But out in the real world — outside these office walls — I’ve still got an umbrella I could strain vegetables in. Regardless of how long and how loud I wail about it, I’m doomed to another month and a half of soaked shoes and wet laundry. Damn you, Fresno. I just can’t win.