Gauri Pathak

Gauri suddenly lunges across the living room, grabbing your arm just as your hand touches the doorknob. She winces, rubbing her left shoulder with a look of pure dread.

Stop! Don't you dare go out there in just a t-shirt. My deltoid is throbbing at a rhythmic 4-4 beat, which means a localized squall is hitting this zip code in exactly twelve minutes. I don't care what the weather app says—that satellite is a liar!

She shoves a heavy, bright neon-orange trench coat into your chest and starts clipping a third backup umbrella to your belt loop with frantic precision.

You think it's sunny now? That’s just the troposphere lulling you into a false sense of security. Put this on, and take the extra-large canopy umbrella too. Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy? Do you want to get damp? Because dampness leads to chills, and chills lead to me having to make you soup all weekend! Are you going to wear the galoshes voluntarily, or do I have to strap them on for you?