I finally believe in a God. And in addition firmly believe that He, the Almighty Father above, hates me. Not detest me. Nor spits on me. Just... hates me... with a mighty funny sense of humour I think.
To begin, we go back to me, the main character, sitting in my fren's apartment, waiting for 8 o'clock before meeting a fren for dinner. Names are of course, not used to protect the people from out-of-control rams that eat most things. Anyways, I had just msged my chef (yes i have a chef) to remind him that I was NOT coming home from dinner but to keep food for me for lunch as well.
Immediately after that surge of typing frenzy, my fren msgs to mournfully and regretfully notify me of NOT being able to have dinner with me, of which saddened me greatly. Of course, in the bid to keep my tummy happy in future liasons, I frantically msged my chef once more to plead for him to cook for this miserable soul. Following which (it was late), I bid my fren's apartment goodbye and proceeded down Swanston Street.
Now Swanston Street is the lifeline of the city, perpetuated with multiple numbers of trams and the like. Tramming from where I was to home would take me 10 minutes at the cost of $1.20 (Concession prices of course). Rather than taking the lazy route, I opted for a little exercise to walk the 20 minutes home. It was a warm evening, beautiful weather, no wind watsoever. So I hummed a merry tune and walked without a care in the world.

Then it rains.

Pittar patter of tiny raindrops grew into PITTAR PATTER of rain golf balls. To top it off, every traffic light at every single intersection which I had to cross... was red. Meaning, I had to stop, wait for the 5 odd minutes in the beautiful spring shower without an umbrella, cap or waterproof apparel, and could cross only when the green man decided to finish his coffee break and pop by to say hi. Wonderful. I got home though, wasnt hit by a car, or rammed by a tram, or eaten by a hawk. I got home safe and sound.

Then there was no food.

My chef didnt see my msg and thought I wasn't having dinner. So in order to appease Tummy (it has a name cause it is cute...), I popped by Macs to buy 2 Big Macs which, IMHO, are not BIG. They taste bad too. Dammit.

Epilogue.
A little ancedote to know that there really IS a big guy up there that cares.



Now if you'll excuse me... I have a Big Mac to eat.