Rain in Indiana

At some point during my sophomore year, someone told me that Indianapolis was only bested by Seattle in high rates of seasonal depression cases, brought on by rain. Until then, I had never fully realized just how much rain fell in this already ugly state. There did seem to be many days of muddy shoes, wet pant legs, inside-out umbrellas, and hunched shoulders, but I guess I had never aggregated all of the days in order to conclude that I attended a college that regularly experienced a Midwest monsoon. Entire ponds would form in front of dorms and academic buildings; I would not be dry for nearly the entire day, despite 5 hours of class; and the worms that littered the sidewalks would experience untimely deaths, regardless of how gingerly one stepped.
Today was one of those rainy Indiana days, only, I did not know that it was going to be before I left my apartment. If I had, I would have brought my umbrella. Stupid. Stupid. You might think that I would have established a logical system whereby I might always have an umbrella handy. But no. Today was not only just another rainy Indiana day, it was also another Elizabeth-forgot-her-umbrella day. Even on days when I have no protection against the elements, not even a hood, I refuse to run, unless I'm with someone else. Running across campus by yourself looks foolish. If you were foolish enough to have forgotten proper gear, you should experience the consequences. And so I walked. Between the library and the dining commons, I knew that my hair was completely soaked, and my black ballet slippers were in a state of emergency. I moved more quickly to get inside to survey the damage. I imagined that the rain possibly made me look more attractive. After all, some of the best professions of love happen in the rain. Jane Eyre experienced it--so did Kiera Knightley in the most recent film version of Pride and Prejudice. Why couldn't I look as glamorous, rain dripping off of my eyelashes and chin?
What I saw when I finally got inside and scuttled into the bathroom, dear reader (I feel that this address is appropriate considering the above allusions), you have probably already guessed. I looked everything but glamorous, and quickly became embarrassed that a few boys had likely seen me. For goodness sakes, I don't even like girls to see me in such a state of aesthetic distress! I not only had mascara and eyeliner literally running down my face, my hair also looked like a Britney Spears wig--after she had jumped into a swimming pool in a state of drunkenness. Gathering my pride, a hair tie, and some Kleenex, I managed semi-botched tidying. Nothing was to be done about the wet clothes though. Heavy, wet jeans were to be my burden for the day.
And I think that I should end with that sentence, as I have realized how incredibly narcissistic and girly this is beginning to sound. Suffice to say that I am not a fan of rain. Especially rain that comes all the time, and goes sideways. And rain that makes you feel like a piece of soggy cereal.