Last night, in anticipation of this morning's rain, I asked him if he knew where the umbrella was. "Oh, yes," he sez, sez he. (Thornton Burgess was an author of children's books and I once read that he was paid by the word, therefore there's a lot of "he sez, sez he")
Except that this morning there was no umbrella to be found."Well, it's in the car," he sez. It's quite a walk to the parking lot, some day I'll count the steps. Giving him the bag of unforgettables, I told him I'd come around and pick him up in front. I think he had in mind coming to the car to find the umbrella, but it seemed of little use to me since by then I'd be thoroughly wet and our destination was in a covered parking structure. So I think I kind of barked the instructions as I repeated them. I splashed my way through the puddles, finally, out of breath, reaching my destination, heaved myself into the van and backed up..........but the remote control had no effect on the gate. Over and over I tried. What to do? Mr. Bob had my cell phone, no one was in sight, time was racing and I was going nowhere.
Finally I dared to honk a couple of times, hoping to be heard and Roberto, one of the maintenance crew came running toward me in his yellow slicker and did something magical that allowed me to exit. Mr. Bob doesn't tolerate tardiness, but this time we were fifteen minutes late and he knew it was best not to challenge me on the point.
He did what he had to do......it was just an hour's session this morning.....and as we prepared to head home, a search of the car turned up nothing in the way of an umbrella. I'm ashamed to admit that I drove home with tight lips and hair growing increasingly limp. This is a long-standing issue for us with umbrellas.
I let His Nibs off in front of the Manor where he was just a matter of a few steps from home and seethed my way around a couple of blocks before I decided to go in search of an umbrella. Remember I didn't have the ability to get in the gate......no doubt it was a battery issue. And Mr. Bob frowns at the idea of my parking on the street in front of the Manor. He bristled when someone once left a card, "We buy junk cars".
CVS was the closest place I could think of and since I didn't want one of those modern, collapsible, fancy-schmancy umbrellas, I had a choice between two bumbershoots that were left over from the rush to buy them that the first rainstorm always brings.
I don't think we'll overlook this giant, redder-than-red one with
G.L.E.N.D.A.L.E emblazoned on the side. Of course there's really nowhere either to store it or let it drip dry, but it was a perfect out-picturing of what I was feeling at the time.
And to top it off, I parked on the street.
Really, he shouldn't have commented on how prematurely I step on the brake in wet weather. He's a better driver than I, but one without a license, more's the pity. And besides that, he's not the only one with cancer.
BEWARE! MAD WOMAN AT LARGE!