I hate rain. Well, I like rain - what I hate is New Yorkers in the rain, cause they're the hugest weather pussies ever. God spits a few droplets on us and suddenly every single awning and doorway has a clot of people huddled underneath, like the rapture's upon us and a vinyl sheet is all that's standing between them and a hail of fire. It's only water, people - not like it's sulfuric acid falling from the sky. At least not yet.

My first year in New York was filled with a parallel fear: that some some stranger would try to sneak under my umbrella to keep dry. Really. The treatment was a succession of smaller and smaller umbrellas, but thankfully I cured myself of this phobia or I'd be sloshing around the city in a poncho trying to keep midgets - well, kids I guess - from scampering under the plastic. This is why I can no longer go to Disney World and deal with the daily 2 pm monsoon.