Sex and the City?

My mom claims I had idealistic fantasies of my New York life being straight out of Sex and the City.  And maybe I did.  And maybe my life does resemble Sex and the City at times but the parallel always diminishes when financial stability is taken to account.  

However, this weekend I experienced a scene straight from the opening credits of Sex and the City.

Saturday night.  Snow/ice storm.  Realize my razor is at home while showering at the gym.  Despite my hike to 4th street, I discover my spa is closed.  I can tell I am going to be late already.

After finding a new affordable spa, shaving my legs, donning an outfit that does not involve Colby sweatpants, and doing my hair and makeup, I leave the apartment at 7:55.  I have to be in Korea town at 8 and I cannot afford a cab.  A short bus ride and a jaunt on the subway and I arrive at my destination, nearly.  Coming out the of station, I glance around to orient myself and head on my way but somehow I get turned around.  As I retrace my steps, suddenly I hear a rush of water.  I look up.  Spray rains down on me, drenching my coat, hat, pants, and suede boots.  Shrieking, I stand stock still, shocked by the extreme cold as the bus drives away.

Why is it that disaster only strikes when you finally have every hair in place, every eyelash curled?  Fortunately, people were understanding when I arrived, appearing closer to a drowned rat than an elegant New Yorker.