A Short Story About An Umbrella

The other day, the boyfriend and I got caught in an almighty downpour and he said my next blog post should be about the futility of umbrellas, so here it is.

Dear Umbrella,

We met around 6pm on an unexpectedly wet Tuesday evening.  I dashed into Woolworths at Town Hall, seeking shelter from the storm, and there you were, a little blue umbrella with white dots.  You were the very last umbrella on the stand, but you were perfect.

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I don’t know what happened to your case; I know I tried to put it safely in my handbag but I never saw it again.  You got me safely home that night and I left you, standing proudly open, in the bathroom to dry out.

I had to go to North Sydney the next day.  I was almost scared to go outside, but you walked to the station with me.  I even remembered to pick you up when I got off the train.  You waited patiently by my side during my meeting.  I’m sorry I couldn’t find your case and so you had to wear a common plastic bag while you waited.

On our way back to the station a rude man with a briefcase started shouting at us.  Apparently you had poked him the in eye.  I know you wouldn’t have done that on purpose, you were just trying to keep me dry.

On Thursday evening, I thought I could carry you all the way home from work in my handbag, but when we reached Hyde Park the heavens opened, so I whipped you out and into action. 

Unfortunately, there was a high wind accompanying the rain.  As we stood on the corner of Hyde Park and Oxford Street, a big gust took hold of you and turned you inside out.  Horrified that your spikes were on display, I tried to put you back together as I crossed the road but the wind was too strong and your beautiful polka dot fabric ripped away from your spikes.

I wish you could’ve stayed with me for longer – it’s not often I own a patterned umbrella.

With fond memories,

Your Owner

Image credit: ladyann / 123RF Stock Photo