Typhoon

What sort of an idiot goes out in a typhoon when she doesn’t have to?

Yup, that would be me.

Once a year, my gal pals and I get together for a sakura party, and it was planned for Tuesday. The bad weather came on unexpectedly, so it was too late to reschedule and we decided to go ahead with it. So after spending the day at home in my pajamas hiding from the storm, I got dressed and headed out. This meant doing the Wrestle the Umbrella ballet in gusting winds and swirling rain, only to arrive at the station and find that the entire line was shut down.

“That’s that,” I thought and walked back up to street level where I discovered that the buses were still running. “Well, I’ve come this far. Let’s see how this plays out.”

We arrived at Shibuya and there were hundreds of people waiting for buses. The taxi queue snaked around the station and disappeared past Hachiko. I crossed my fingers and prayed that the Yamanote line was still running. It was.

When I got to the restaurant, everyone clapped and cheered, and we continued to do that for the rest of the evening as other bedraggled ladies struggled in. Most of them had come from work and so were dressed in girl clothes. One British lady congratulated me on being “appropriately garbed” in my genuine blue artificial suede fake Ugg boots.

The storm apparently acknowledged Woman Power, because it stopped raining and after a while we could open the windows and appreciate the cherry blossoms outside. Lovely.

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