Listen.  Did you hear that?  It’s the sound of rain splashing against the fire escape outside my bedroom.  It’s also, unfortunately, the sound of my ritual mortification.

I like the rain.  I really do.  What I can’t stand is my umbrella.  Sure, it’s got most of the qualities an umbrella should have—opens without a fight, keeps me dry, strong enough to withstand most rainy day gusts.  And while it doesn’t proclaim my super sports fandom, my affinity for Monet or Magritte, or my belligerent insistence on being BRIGHT AND CHEERFUL with neon pink swirls that thumb a nose at icky gray skies, it’s a sober, respectable black.

Furthermore, unlike most other umbrellas I’ve ever owned, it just. never. gets. lost.  Which is kind of its worst quality.  Because somehow, no matter how many new umbrellas I buy, the only one my hand comes up with each and every time it rains is the small, black, sleek one… with the modestly-sized, yet ridiculously garish red and yellow Budweiser logo on the top.

I don’t know how this umbrella got into my arsenal.  What’s much more mystifying to me, however, is why it remains. As my husband will willingly attest, I’m more than capable of throwing out anything that bears even a hint of uselessness or tastelessness.  I’m forever hauling overflowing bags of “stuff” to the Goodwill…

So why did I find myself out yet again today with an umbrella I was twisting this way and that in a vain attempt to hide the emblem that screams “TACKY!”?  Couldn’t tell you.  Laziness?  A deeply subliminal self-loathing?  Whatever it is, I suspect I probably won’t get over it before April (or March!) showers descend again…

So if you see a brown-haired girl walking down Broadway in the rain twirling a black umbrella with flashes of red and yellow, I’d very much appreciate it if you’d walk on by without trying too long to make out what exactly those flashes are, and without pondering too hard what in the world a smart, chic, morally upstanding school teacher is doing with a Budweiser umbrella…

 

 

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