Specifically, getting wet while pulling the fence that keeps the old horse off the hayfield through the summer.  He now has a thoroughly decadent 12 acre field to play in for the time, and sometimes in that great stretch of green grass he shows that he is a descendant of Kentucky royalty, even at age 26 with two bad legs.  But I timed it poorly, and got to the farthest corner as the rain came down, in buckets.  Now, I don’t run.  And getting wet, well that really isn’t worth the effort.  So I continued on and got very wet indeed.

Having decided that you are going to be wet, it ceases to be an issue.  You won’t melt, unless you’re one of Mr F.L. Baum’s unpleasant witches.  If you aren’t going to be out too long, getting cold isn’t a serious concern.  So you get wet, watching the low grey clouds come up over the hill and the mist rise from the fields, and consider time.  Because really, you are already wet, why hurry?