Today it was raining.
And, seeing as I don't have in my possession a rain slicker, goloshes, or an umbrella, I did the next logical thing: I wore my swimming trunks. When the idea struck me like lightening this morning (equally as painful- not equally as brilliant) I was robing, and the thought seemed so promising. But as I later found out the idea should have been left in the planning stage. My ideas often seem judicious when I'm not fully awake (or flat out comotose) but then when I mention them to people later (after the sun has risen to a fine, full, fruition) they act like I've just suggested feeding their grandmothers avocados or cacti jelly. You know the look to which I reference.
My walk to school in my swim suit was chilly at best, and clammy. I was certainly not happy as a clam. Frankly, I'm not even sure what makes them so happy. They live in a dark shell under the sea until they are selected to face a boiling, ignominious death. Then they are dipped in garlic butter and swallowed whole. Perhaps the phrase should be "Swallowed like a clam" instead of "Happy as a clam." It could be used to describe four-year-olds propelling marbles up their nasal cavities.
Opting out on the shirt (it didn't look good with my Tommy Bahamas) just made me even colder. The rain glazed my bare skin like ice ream running down your hand beyond the elbow and several people asked me if I was a lifeguard. It's nice when random people ask you if you save lives for a living. The bottom line of this experiment is: Don't wear your swimming suit unless you are absolutely sure you are going swimming. It is a poor substitute for a rubber one-sie.