Umbrellas

Daughter has been on an archaeological dig into the deep, dark jungle of her closet.

One of the things she has unearthed is a Sponge Bob puzzle tablet.

Daughter is twenty-four years old.  It's been a few years since old Sponge Bob has been a favorite.

Another thing she found was an umbrella. Now, this umbrella is the one I took everywhere for years while I worked. It is of medium size and each panel is a different color. Pink, green, blue and purple. Sounds ugly, but they are muted tones and not too hard on the eyes.

Apparently, Daughter borrowed this umbrella one day. For those of you who have children, you know what this means.

That's right. The umbrella mysteriously disappeared years ago, found yesterday in Daughter's closet.

What a shock.

If one were to look at my family's sad collection of umbrellas, one would think we were homeless.

The aforementioned umbrella has a small tear in one of the panels because the wire rod is broken. Not bad, I thought. I mean, it could still keep you dry.

We have three little umbrellas. A pink one, a green one, and a black one. I bought them so each car would  have an umbrella always located in the pocket of the door. The pink and green straggle brokenly when you open them up, but if it ain't raining too awfully hard, it'll get ya in the door fairly dry. The black one is currently misplaced.

We have a black one that has a duck handle. It's only broken in the back, so if you hold it close, the front does the job.

We have a lovely umbrella with a carved rabbit's head on the end. It is broke all to heck and back. It can no longer be used, AT ALL, which is what I keep telling Husband. He tries anyway.

Then I have THE umbrella. It is huge. Its panels are a print of a Monet painting. The handle is J shaped and a fine, pale wood.

NO one, I tell you, no one, is allowed to use this umbrella but ME. Not Husband. Not Daughter. Not little old ladies who are going to catch a cold from crossing the street in the rain because they got caught in an unexpected downpour.

Nope.

No how.

So, if this umbrella goes missing, there is no telling what I will do.

But first, I'll look in Daughter's closet.