If you are human, chances are you've had streaks of perpetual bad luck. You take your car in to have an oil change, and the mechanic discovers that your car has not had an engine flush since the Carter administration.
You immediately shift into panic mode because, although your car is running nearly perfectly (and, besides, it wasn't even manufactured until the Clinton administration), the mechanic has used language and facial expressions that indicate that something seriously horrible will happen to your car if you don't go through with the engine flush. Also, you need a new air filter and premium oil imported from Siberia.
So, after you spend $72.99 to catapult your car into the unearthly realm of shipshape, your car stalls in the middle of an intersection. It's Sunday, so you'll have to pay the tow truck twice to take your car to a more educated mechanic. It is also hailing.
A few days later, you find out that your check bounced. You get your car back, and it guzzles quarts oil as if it were Pepto-Bismol. You get a bad haircut, and your girlfriend cries inconsolably and hasn't yet come out of her room.
Such streaks have come to be known as the Black Cloud Theory, meaning that there is a figurative black cloud hovering over you wherever you go, not resting for an instant until you have received divine retribution for everything you have done wrong since the Carter administration. A local band has named itself after this phenomenon.
As of late, the Black Cloud Theory has taken a more literal path into our lives in the form of depressing, drizzly days suitable only for listening to "Everybody Hurts" by REM and eating chocolate frosting straight from the can with a spatula. These days are my fault. Actually, they are my jacket's fault.
Like all people who wish to obtain the maximum degree of coolness for the maximum number of days while spending the minimum number of dollars, I broke down and bought a suede jacket. It is the perfect accessory for any outfit because it projects a sophisticated look while making a statement: "I may be wearing white socks with black shoes, but I am rugged and adventurous! See? I am wearing a suede jacket!"
As we know, there are two things that suede will not tolerate: being stepped on and being rained on. Invariably whenever I wear my suede jacket, it rains, thereby forcing me to wad it up, stuff it under my shirt and make a break for someplace dry. What, do the Goddess of Rain and the Goddess of Suede Wearers work at the same time so that they can go to hair appointments together?
I believe this may date back to the ancient days of the rain dance, in which men would call upon precipitation to make their crops bountiful. Naively, they believed that the dancing called the rain, but lo, their ceremonial loincloths were made from tanned buffalo hides, which also acquire irreparable damage in the rain. Mother Nature finds causing anguish, however evil it may be, cute.
However, I refuse to stop wearing my jacket, but let us not despair. Together we will make it through these dark days of constant drizzle and murky hopes. After all, there are worse things.
It could be hailing.
Write to Aleshia at aahaselden@bsu.edu
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