My Kind of Man

I know it may seem weird, but I judge my kind of man based on how he deals with rainy weather… It says a lot about a man’s personality, trust me.

* * * * *

I’m driving to work in my car, watching them do their thing outside in the rain, and I am judging them.  I don’t mean to be, I just can’t help it.

Sheldon, over there, is running in the rain with his ridiculously huge backpack cleverly hidden under his bulky parka because, apparently, he really will need every single one of those hardcover books he stuffed in there.  An umbrella was out of the question because it would impede his awkward gait.

Sheldon stutters when he tells you that you look nice and, when no one’s watching, wipes his nose with the back of his hand.  Oh, look, he just tripped over the curb.

My need to laugh is quelled as my eyes fall on Dean, and I groan inwardly.  Of course Dean isn’t wearing a raincoat or carrying an umbrella.  He’s walking slowly through the downpour, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched up to his ears.

He argues with you when you tell him to carry a bag for all of his small items, and then blames you when his pants rip from over-stuffing the pockets.  Stop trying to be so cool, dude… you’re going to get sick.

I am then distracted by Harrison, who brings a smile to my face as I register his sleek grey raincoat, briefcase, and classy back umbrella.  I’m a fan… until I notice him accidentally clock a woman on the side of the head with his umbrella, an event that goes entirely unnoticed by him because he’s talking on his cell phone.

Harrison takes you to expensive dinners, buys you the engagement ring of your dreams that makes all of your friends hate you, and forgets your birthday.

I spot Noah on the corner of the street, lost in thought and peering up at the rain from underneath his umbrella.  A young mother, coat drawn over her head to shield herself and her daughter from the rain, hurries to the corner and waits impatiently for the light to change.  Noah insists she take his umbrella, and then continues on his way, allowing the rain to soak his head.

Noah loves being in love; problem is, he loves the idea of love a whole lot more than the girl he’s supposed to be loving.

I’m chuckling inwardly at the rain-soaked Noah walking in the crosswalk in front of my car when I am startled by a sprinting Charles, clad in a navy business suit and completely unprepared for the weather.  He’s using his leather briefcase as a shield and I can tell from his face that he is not happy about it.

If only he had bothered to check the weather forecast before dashing out of his mistress’ apartment this morning.

The light changes and I ease through the intersection.  The next light turns red before I can pass it and I cluck my tongue impatiently as a sleek black car pulls up next to me. I smile, catching sight of Scott, sitting behind the wheel, drumming his fingers in time to his favorite indie rock band.

Scott lets you pick the movie, cooks breakfast on Sunday mornings, and, most importantly, drives to work when it rains.

My kind of man.

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