Can you believe I ordered the Repel, "easy touch," windproof umbrella that the New York Times WireCutter says is what my father would have called the “cat’s meow”? Or that I ordered a new bubble umbrella because the vinyl panels on at least one of the two bubble umbrellas in my Suburu Forrester have started to stick together, no doubt the result of sitting in the trunk under the baking sun over several summers. Surely it’s time to dispose of another bubble umbrella whose spokes have disengaged from the tips that hopefully spare me from knocking somebody’s eyes out.
It's been at least a decade since a younger colleague and I spent a good portion of our lunch hour at DSW. There each of us purchased several of those bubble umbrellas made popular by Queen Elizabeth – one for the office, one for the car, and one for home. When the new bubble umbrella arrived this morning, I admired how cute it looked with sunglass designs. Dutifully I toted the impossibly tall carton down to the recycling area of my condo complex.
Then because I may have too much time on my hands, I commenced taking “inventory” of the short umbrellas on the top shelf of my coat closet, carefully opening each one and inspecting for tips that have become disengaged from spikes, holes or faulty opening mechanisms. As it turns out, all eight of these umbrellas are in perfect condition, though not windproof like the one yet to arrive from Amazon.
At the risk of embarrassing myself, I took a trip down memory lane with each umbrella. There was one that I bought because of a sudden downpour as I exited the subway station prior to reporting to the office. That was back in the day when I worked, wore a pantsuit never meant to become soaking wet, and needed to get there even if the weather was miserable. This must have been a very long time ago, because I was able to dash into the long defunct Filene’s department store to make my purchase of a leopard print Tote mini.
Or how about the overpriced, Betsy Johnson mini umbrella I bought at Nordstrom Rack? Once again, I’d neglected to check my Accuweather app, and felt the rain starting as I emerged from Boston’s Arlington Street subway station. I was headed to my hair stylist on Newbury Street, and thought that if I walked in soaked, I would get chilled by the AC.
Here’s the truth about umbrellas and me. The reason I have so many perfectly good umbrellas in my coat closet is that I never use them because I fear two things: either the wind will blow the umbrella inside out or I will forget the umbrella once I arrive at my destination. (That reminds me of the white shoe lawyer who had a luggage tag on his golf umbrella so that when he forgot it at a bar association meeting, the receptionist could phone his firm, and his secretary could send somebody to retrieve it.)
Plus I really dislike having to carry an umbrella, either closed or open. Umbrellas are terrible for those of us who like to keep our hands free. According to the Wirecutter, the windproof umbrella I ordered is perfect for storing in a backpack and excellent for travel. Please don’t tell me the February 2022 trip to Spain I signed up for is not a pipe dream inspired by the Pandemic.
So, if I happen to use my Patagonia tote bag/backpack when I’m in Spain and the weather is iffy, I’ll take the windproof umbrella. Otherwise, I would far prefer to wear my stylish Helly Hansen hooded rainboat, or even my dowdy LL Bean hooded raincoat.
Should I distribute my surplus umbrellas to my grandchildren, or just stop worrying about losing one of them?
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