It’s raining, it’s pouring, and somewhere, I’m sure, there’s just gotta be an old man who’s snoring. And here, in lovely downtown Manhattan, there’s a young (ahem) girl (ahhhem) who’s dancing. Or at least prancing. Or who was at least splashing joyfully through puddles on her way home from the gym, gaily singing the theme to “Sesame Street” softly to herself.

Yes, nothing says Hello, pleased to meet you, and why yes, I’d love a sedative, thank you than my actions this morning on my way home. When I saw that it was raining (and not merely drizzling, as it was doing when I left home earlier), I looked up at the sky, sighed loudly, and grinned maniacally, barely able to contain my excitement. If I’d worn a hat, I would’ve tossed it into the air a la Mary Tyler Moore. Instead, I almost literally skipped down the slick pavement (OK, so a couple of times I did skip, but who’s counting?). And I definitely turned my face to the rain and walked a few steps with my eyes closed.

And then … I was mugged.

(No I wasn’t. I just wanted to make sure you were listening.)

Oh, how I love the rain! If you know me “personally” (and most of you do), you know that I prefer it over sunshine any day. In fact, if you know me well, you know that sunshine actually pisses me off. (No, I don’t know why. I don’t care why. Don’t question me.) Give me the rain, and gray skies, any day. And not just because it used to mean that gym class would be held indoors, which meant that we wouldn’t play softball — so I wouldn’t be forced to display my almost freakish inability (bordering on disability) to hit or catch the ball (oy, I could tell you stories — and some day I will) — and instead we’d all square dance in the gym (which I secretly loved).

So when I reached the triangle where Broadway and Fifth Avenue converge and turned to see my beloved Flatiron Building, I just had to take a picture. For some reason, I’d avoided taking one since moving here in November 2000, because I didn’t want to seem like a tourist in my own neighborhood. I mean, every day, without fail, I see at least one person standing at the same spot as I stood this morning, looking up at “my” building and taking photos. And every time I see someone doing it, I think, “Doofy turista!” But then I realized, Who’s the girl who, twice in the past seven days, went on little adventuras that had her gleefully snapping photo after photo in other neighborhoods in the city? (Oooh, there’s my delicious double standard [hold the cheese]!)

Anyway, it’s raining. I’m happy. In fact, I couldn’t be happier. (Well, I could … but where am I going to find a square dancing partner on such short notice?)