Suggest a title for this piece, please.

Brandy rued not having taken her umbrella that morning. �Oh no, it won�t rain,� Arthur had assured her as she got ready for work, �it�s going to be a beautiful day!� Now she was walking home without even a hat or proper jacket, the water squelching in her shoes, dripping off her nose and running down the neck of her summer blouse. Damn Arthur! He was probably dry as toast in the workshop behind the house where he built his birdhouses.

Trudging along, feeling miserable, Brandy kept her eyes downcast, trying to minimize the amount of rain running off her lashes and into them. She came to the level crossing and, as luck would have it, a train was making its way through town, screeching on the rails, throwing water off on the few pedestrians waiting to cross. Brandy glanced at her fellow foot travelers--most had umbrellas, one had a rain poncho on and one was a child in a yellow slicker, red rainhat and matching rubber boots. He was amusing himself, splashing in the puddles and lifting his cherubic face skyward to receive the bounty of nature. For a moment Brandy forgot her own discomfort as she watched the look of rapture on the child�s face and remembered doing the same when she was a wee tot. The last car hove out of sight and she continued her weary trudge home. Turning the corner onto her own street, a car passed, splashing through a deep puddle, and sending a spray that finished the job of soaking her to the skin.

Once in the house, Brandy was greeted by the sight of Arthur cheerfully bustling away in the kitchen, fixing supper. She was torn by conflicting emotions: anger and resentment that he had been home and dry all day and had not thought to come and get her in the truck, and pleasure and tenderness that he was cooking their evening meal, thus saving her the trouble.

�Howdy, Arthur!� she called, dripping great puddles onto the hallway floor. �I�m home!� She started shedding her chothes right there, figuring she would just bring the mess in with her if she didn�t. First her squelchy shoes came off. Hopefully they would dry all right. Sometimes leather got all stiff after a soaking like that. Then she peeled off her blouse, wriggled out of her skirt, extricated both legs from her pantihose and, after a moment�s consideration, ditched the underwear too, and padded barefoot and naked into the warm and welcoming kitchen. She grabbed the dish towel from its rack by the sink and started drying her dripping curls. Arthur turned around from where he was stirring a pot at the stove and, without missing a beat, said, �Ah, Brandy! I see you�ve decided to undress for dinner.�

|

<~~~ * ~~~>