Approximately seven umbrellas were injured since the writing of this essay.

Drexel University, Philadelphia, PA.

Class over, I walked out of the Language and Communications Center to a warm outdoors, albeit slightly drizzly. I thought to myself, what nice weather to walk home in; great way to clear my head. But, somewhere between the Gotye song blaring through my headphones and the construction going on across the street, the delivery of my message must have been misconstrued by the universe. Like someone up there had heard what nice weather to walk home in; great way to clean my head. In a matter of minutes, the sky started to fall, and I became Chicken Little. When I say the sky was falling, the sky was falling…

I remained calm at first, appealing to my free spirit I convinced myself “you can enjoy this,” Gene Kelly certainly seemed to. But let’s get real, he could make taking out the garbage a blast. Also, forget the boots and umbrella. These are things Capitalist America tries to convince us are necessary. I’m here to tell you otherwise: the only appropriate footwear on an occasion like this is…no footwear. How does Rihanna make it look so sexy? Ela ela ey eyy fuck if I know!

Thankfully I had a hood, because I didn’t want to open my umbrella, in an attempt to protect it from the harsh winds. So, I put my hood up, only to realize the rain was not coming from above, as is expected but from east/west/south. Speaking of hoods, I want to know at what point a HOODLESS raincoat sounded smart? When? Never. It’s like a wheel-less bike. Not functional whatsoever. So, seeing as my hood was basically just serving to marinate my hair in an extra coat of mustiness, I reluctantly turned to my umbrella. I exhaled as I pushed the button and the metal spokes sprang to life. I was so grateful to my friend, Mr. Umbrella. And in that same moment, I started to mourn his loss.

**

They say, the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. You see, friends, my problem is that I am a serial umbrella killer. Unlike other criminal acts, this is not one punishable by any worldly court of law. I wish it were, because at least I’d be able to serve a sentence, be forgiven, move on with life. Unfortunately as an umbrella butcher, I slip through the cracks of the judicial system. But there are other ways I am rebuked. Namely, by the Rain Gods. They send their sky tears in my direction, crying out for each and every umbrella lost—at the same time punishing me for my sin— reminding me on every rainy day just how many an honorable umbrella soldier has perished in my arms. They just don’t understand, that if we lived in a world where umbrellas weren’t marginalized, and I was locked away for such a crime, the suffering would end, and umbrellas of the world would have a fighting chance to live.

I’d like to think that I can recover from my current serial umbrella killing spree, back to my previous peaceful human-umbrella co-existence. I long for those days.

Recently in Philadelphia it’s been SURPRISE monsooning randomly on beautifully sunny days. One day last week, all of the Drexel student body fell victim to this and quickly animorphed (remember those books? I used to love K. A. Applegate) from Dragons to ducklings. It was quite entertaining watching this, until I realized I would eventually have to brave the weather as my fellow Dragons had. How does one prepare for such watery abundance? By wearing a bathing suit and a parka over top. Forget pants and boots, they will only hold you back. What I mean is literally, they will weigh you down once they have collected 5 pounds worth of precipitation.

**

Philadelphia is not the only rainy place I have lived, however. Nor is it the rainiest place I have ever lived, far from it. So before you judge my short-tempered umbrella habits, I must also explain to you my luck (or lack thereof) with traveling to rainy places. Just when you think it has rained so much there’s no moisture left in the atmosphere, domestic animals start falling from the sky. Too bad we don’t live in an alternate universe where it rains men (as per the Weather Girls) or meatballs and spaghetti. Now THAT I would be okay with.

With that, I make a request to the Rain Gods. If you can hear this, could you please reconsider distribution of rain waters in the world? You know, maybe to some of those people and places suffering from drought? It would be greatly appreciated!! And, also, not a priority, but if you could get around to Northern NJ as well, my dad and his kipo would be truly grateful. And… some umbrellas might be spared.

Filakia,

Steph