spring is in the air...and in my hair

Unfortunately it only took until 2:41pm for my sunny spring disposition to be dampened (literally).
I woke up this morning in one of those moods that can only come with a new season or a new pair of shoes. In addition I'd had a good, long, deep sleep - the remnants of which were stuck to my cheek and dried to my pillow (which was a relief after a good week and a half of self inflicted sleep deprivation...self inflicted? I guess that's another story...).
And then there was the miracle of breakfast. That's right, real food in my house that I could actually eat. Food that makes me happy like oranges and almonds and a hot cupper (with milk!).
Of course all of these events were mere prelude to the elation of stepping out into the brightest, boldest, most beautiful morning of the year so far. The sun kissed my cheek; the sweet breeze tickled my nose with the promise of warmth and melting, and I didn't even mind that I was going to Education Psychology 390 with the most mind-numbing professor in existence.
It wasn't until I was in the prime of my day, just having finished a Starbucks and a Louise alone time that it happened.
I was waiting for the hand to change into a man at the meridian dividing college drive when a truck decided it was neither convenient nor important enough for him to slow at the enormous puddle right behind me. Perhaps I'd earned this early afternoon shower after the comment I made yesterday to the effect of, ' I like that my pants get wet in spring, because at least it reminds me that I don't have frostbite!'.
Sure, in the life of irony that I live, that comment was begging for trouble - a puddle shower seemed inevitable.
The second vehicle which failed to discern the effect his speed and mass would have on the puddle he was driving through though, that was unwarranted. Not only was this particular shower get my pants wet - it got my f-ing hair wet! Not to mention my shirt, vest, bag, homework, belt, shoes, arms...I look like I'd fallen in!
And then, as though the gods of all things slap stick drank a little too much cheap sherry, as I walked from the scene of humiliation my left shoe started to squeak. And squeak it did - loudly announcing my shame as I slushed, slurped and squeaked all the way across campus.
So the moral? Wear yellow rubber as often as possible.