Umbrellas

I have some thoughts about umbrellas. First, it's a jamais vu - the more you say it the more fake it sounds. Umbrella. Umbrella. That's not a real word. Second, I hate them.

It's been raining a lot in Hamilton the past few weeks and I have made a profound discovery during this time. Umbrellas are overrated, while umbrella ownership is not. As crappy and useless as the standard umbrella may seem, it does actually often fulfil its purpose of sheltering you from the wet during a rainstorm. Unless of course your mother bought you a two-person umbrella from GT Boutique so you could be romantic with a loved one and both be sheltered by the wider birth and coverage zone. If that's the case, then your umbrella is poorly manufactured and has a much larger surface area for the wind to grab hold of, forcing you to bend to the will of the gusts. Literally bend. My umbrella is ruined now. A substantial slap in the face of wind bent four of the six arms and now my umbrella is basically just a tarp on a stick. I live just below the escarpment in Hamilton, so the wind tumbles down the "mountain" and creates little wind tunnels throughout my neighbourhood. At one point, I felt like I was walking through a car wash with a parachute on.  Umbrellas at best are serviceably useful. At best you stay mostly dry, at worst you like like history's worst jouster charging at an enemy you can't actually see.

As the sun pokes through the clouds for the first time in what seems like eons, I'm happy I don't have to parade myself through the city streets with my bright red broken umbrella, resting it on my head like a prize winning fascinator at the Kentucky Derby. 

Summer can't come soon enough.

Ps. Be thankful I didn't reference any of my amazing Rihanna material; the tears in your eyes would have made the article difficult to read. You would have required some sort of eye umbrellas.