you can't rain on my parade

So, it was raining out. No, let's rephrase that, it was pouring outside. Like a massive sheet of water gushing out of some mysterious high pressure showerhead, it basically translated into the fact that there would be absolutely no fun to be had that day. Typically, that sort of rain at the cottage signals me to subside to a day which consists of: oversized 80's flannel sweatshirts, being wrapped up in Barbie bed sheets that graced my bed at home a good eight years ago, eating an entire bag of rather beautiful glosette raisins while listening to a brandnew playlist of songs from bands i've never heard of before and reading Lula magazine for the 37th time. Soon, the thought hit me; rain=water, hannah=loves water. I was never good at math, but i knew this lil' hateathon with rain kinda needed to stop. I whipped out my tiny-polkadot bikini and ran out ito that rain, no hesitation. It was perfect. I sat on the edge of my dock, loving every drop of icy cold water hitting my skin. After twenty minutes of bliss, and some kinda menacing lighting causing me to squeal and run in, i was content. After my act of defiance to mother nature (suck it motha nature) I walked back into the cottage resembling something very close to a drowned rat and for the rest of the day i had an awful cold that no amount of piping hot tea or fluffy blankets could possibly cure. it was worth it.