[Following after him, with a rather uncharacteristically resigned outlook on this.]
I'm telling you, Q, you might as well just let it happen. [Embrace the rain, or something.]
[As he says this, he steps into a large, muddy puddle that turns out to be deep enough that the muck reaches the top of his boot and seeps inside of it. It's a small miracle he doesn't twist his ankle falling into it.]