Human beings aren’t perfect by any means. We don’t always say please and thank you. We’re not accustomed to shaking hands with strangers, no matter the social pressure. But we’ve done some remarkable things. We’ve been to the moon, deep into the ocean, and figured out a way to get toilet paper to rise in ply with each passing year. Which brings me to umbrellas.
Umbrellas are mankind’s Achilles heel. They fold up at the slightest hint of wind. They make users look like fools. Silly makeup, floppy shoes, and a shiny red nose are hardly as clownish as the sight of a businessman fighting through drizzle while his umbrella collapses in on itself like a dying star.
The truth is, we don’t need umbrellas. We have raincoats, rainhats, and ponchos. Even a garbage bag does a better job than an umbrella. Everyone should get soaked two to three times a year. It’s not like an umbrella prevents any of this. Then there are the industrial size umbrellas making their way across town like a menace. Sure, they don’t break like the typical one. But they do cause strife since adoptees can’t see a foot in front of themselves, hoping the image of the gigantic umbrella clears the way.
When it rains, either you get wet, or you go inside. Those are your options. There’s no baseball umbrella, no bocce umbrella, no tennis umbrella. Only a golf umbrella. Another strike, ideally of the lightning variety, against the stupid Scottish game.
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