When I first went to college, my mother gave me an umbrella with a head of a duck as the handle. (This gives you an idea of how little she notices what I like.) It was a good umbrella with a quick open button and a pretty large canopy, but I completely detested the duck head. Still, I absolutely refused to spend any money on something as silly as an umbrella. So, I walked around with my hand covering the duckiest part of it. I momentarily considered sawing off the beak of the duck so you couldn't tell what it was, but this seemed rather morbid, so I didn't.
A number of years later I finally decided to buy myself another umbrella for going-out purposes where I couldn't bare to show the duck head for any moment. But because of my persistent stubbornness not to spend money on umbrellas, I bought the cheapest one I could find—one of those that folds up really small but as a result has flimsy linkages. Not surprisingly, it lasted only but a little while before it got testy; it seemed to work fine during a little drizzle, but on those moments when you really need it and the dark clouds overhead start letting loose, it just refused to open.
My next umbrella was a long, pointy umbrella that you use for more for style than for practicality. I bought it to match my swimsuit. I realize this is a difficult concept to explain. Suffice to say that John and I had a lot of crazy ideas for our early dates. Due to some pleasant distractions, I haven’t yet taken it to the beach.
Umbrella number four was bought as a replacement for the duck umbrella after I left it in a friend’s car. A few weeks ago I saw the duck’s eyes peering out of her husband elect’s* back pocket. (Don’t worry Ross, I think it’s much happier with you.) Number four was probably my favorite: tan in color with a quick release and a sturdy canopy; all around a beautiful umbrella. So naturally this is the one I chose to bring on a trip earlier this year, fearing a forecast that called for constant rain. A DC coworker of mine kidded that it seemed a little funny to carry an umbrella when the sky was completely blue and cloud free. Feeling rather silly, I left the umbrella in my hotel room. Not twenty minutes later black clouds appeared out of nowhere and brought a torrential downpour down upon me. Ducking into an icecream parlor, I contemplated how in the hell I was going to get out of this without facing complete wet misery. At that exact moment, a short squat man walked past the parlor window pushing a cart full of umbrellas: five dollars, five dollars. Enter umbrella number five.
Belgium ate number five and six (left by a crazy ex-roommate). C'est assez, Belgique? That made the count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
I am now gazing in the direction of a corner of a coffee shop (which is every coffee shop in every city) where umbrella number four used to be resting. It seems to have disappeared after I relocated to another corner of the coffee shop. I hope someone is happily weathering the rain with their new found tan, wonderful umbrella. I am very sad, left with only one lonely umbrella number three. I guess it’s time to hit the beach.
* she hates the word fiance and so is now bringing this term into fashion
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