I went home with sixty men last night. My clothes were wet. I was wet, my shirt plastered to my body displaying what I had to offer a starving infant or mammary-lusting male and my hair hanging in wet waves. I've never had so much fun.

I danced in the rain until my lips turned blue.

My feet disappeared in ink-colored puddles and my hands arched through the flight patterns of raindrops, all at the entertainment of the elderly patrons of a Dunkin Donuts. Their quizzical stares turned to youthful smiles as they realized that I was not a mad woman, I was playing in the rain.

I closed my eyes to the gentle intrusion their headlights provided and splashed on until I was out of breath and the cold had my teeth set to chattering. With lips drawn up in one corner I re-entered the building, carefully hopping from rug to rug then balancing on tip-toes to reach the napkins.

As if they would be enough to soak up the rain from my skin and clothes.

"Holy cow! What did you do, fall down?"

I turned toward the greasy haired youth behind the counter and smiled. Before I could answer the squeaky voice of a child belted out, "But, daddy, she was stomping in the puddles! Why can't I?"

Blonde curls moved in excited bounces as the child hopped in her seat, finger extended and gesturing in my general direction. Her father sighed and leaned across the table, whispering his reasoning so that no one else could hear.

As I stood there shivering with cold I suddenly remembered the treasure my pockets held. Bounty claimed in exchange for hundreds of little orange tickets after several rounds of skeeball.

I went to sleep with cheeks aching from laughter. I awoke with pockets full of soldiers.

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