Monday, December 23, 2013

Andrea visited us while in NYC


On our last day in New York City, this really rude woman named Andrea bumped into us. Well, she bumped into the whole city. Well, OK, the whole east coast. She was one of those close-talkers that you wanted to tell, "Hey, say it -- don't spray it."

And spray it, she did. It was like she had a retainer in her mouth, and she wasn't used to talking with it. We knew she was coming for a visit, but we didn't realize the extent of her stay.

Tropical Storm Andrea cascaded up the east coast on the news throughout the week. We knew she was coming around the mountain, and when she hit, I realized that I didn't have the right shoes. It's all about having the right shoes when you walk around NYC, isn't it?

All I had were a pair of Teva flip flops (that I pretty much flattened like tires) and a pair of Croc slip ons.

Yes, I said Crocs.

What? You wouldn't catch yourself dead in a pair of Crocs in New York? These aren't your typical looking Crocs, though, so you don't have to worry. And I'm still alive, so I wasn't caught dead in them, either.

But neither of those were going to withstand Andrea, so off to Target we went to see what we could find. I ended up buying a pair of generic Sperry's. And leather protection spray. And bootie socks to keep my feet dry and help with any chaffing.

Just so you know, bootie socks don't work while walking among the dregs of a tropical storm. Trust me. They just don't hold up to the constant soaking one must endure whilst being sprayed, puddled, rained-on and more.

With such rain, it was an obvious museum day. We hit up everyone's favorite: the Museum of Natural (covering mouth to yawn) History. We had to wait in line to get in, huddled under our umbrellas -- and this little old lady (quite certain she uses her "I'm a little ole lady" like a ninja to get her way) totally cut us in line.

She had this benign look to her, which is obviously part of her mystic. She had a navy hat pulled over her Q-Tip hair and a matching navy rain coat. Out of nowhere, there she was -- right in front of us. She had round brown eyes that said, "I have no clue what I'm doing..." but underneath that, I'm sure, was the fiery soul of the devil.

It burned my biscuits, but fear not, the constant downpour of Andrea put out my fuming annoyance. I got to worry about more pressing matters, like, trying to keep those bootie socks on my feet, now that they were soaked and curling up at my toes.

You could tell who the out-of-towners were -- we were all soaked. We all roamed the sidewalks and subways like we had just survived a shipwreck. The New Yorkers were amazing, however, and you could tell who they were among the sea of all the people because they weren't wet. They had raincoats on, but none of their shoulders were bespeckled with rain drops. The women had great hair. The men had great hair.

I was utterly mystified.

And wet.

But, at least I had my generic boat shoes to keep my feet from getting too wet.