Puddle Pounding

I silently yelled in my mind as I took another step which landed my foot in a puddle that went unnoticed until that very moment. With the next step, water splashed up my pant-leg and onto the back of my calf. "Great," I muttered as I shook my right foot to try and get all the water out (which really did nothing but satisfy my own frustration).  It was a rainy, cloudy morning in Rexburg. I happen to be one of those fortunately short people that, even with rolling up the cuff of your pants, they still get wet and drive you absolutely insane.  "Just a few more blocks and you'll be home and able to curl up on the couch with your blanket and take a nap," I told myself as I stepped into yet another puddle. Great.


The flashing yellow light on the Crosswalk sign told the silver Toyota that it needed to stop and let me cross.  As I crossed the street and bicyclist decided it would make my day if he rode by me really fast; fast enough to splash the small amount of water on the street up into my face and onto my cute, green Billabong sweatshirt. "Ugh, rude." Bikers have never been on my good side.


As I approached the next intersection there is no Crosswalk sign with the flashing yellow light. So I look both ways, make sure that I have plenty of time to cross before either car would tragically hit me, and begin to cross. A huge delivery truck stops for me on my left, and I nod in thanks. However, the small Honda on my right finds it necessary to bring his car so close to where he starts out a few feet from me and slowly inches closer. What? Is he in some kind of huge hurry?  Will saving those few precious seconds that it would have taken to cross the intersection from his proper place at the other side make or break his pattern of punctuality? I don't think so.  People like that make me want to slow my pace as I cross.  Maybe take out my cell phone, make a few phone calls, file my fingernails, you know, take my own sweet time. "Idiot! I'm trying to walk here! Let's have a little respect for personal space okay?!" I yelled at the driver, flinging my hands up in the air and waving them like a madwoman.


Okay, so maybe I didn't do that. But the scene crossed my mind as I stepped onto the sidewalk.  The final trek to my apartment door lasted another three minutes and it all passed rather uneventfully. As I stepped into my apartment, a wave of relief washed over me as I dropped my bag and sat down on the couch. But then, at that very moment, a feeling of disgust followed as I felt the wet, cold cuffs of my pants press against the back of my calves. I yelled silently in my mind, went to my room, and changed my pants.