At Least They're Committed

Pondering whether I look pathetic or adorable soaked clear through, with rainwater dripping off my blond curls, running down my face and the back of my blazer; my black tennis shoes squishing after wading through the ankle-deep ponds, my shirt and skirt clinging to me so tightly they stained my skin. I mean, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if the 35- to 60-year-old men are looking at me and smiling because they think it’s cute or sad or both. I just noticed it is all.