The handle of my umbrella juts out of the corner of my purse when it's not raining. Sure, I have a smaller, lighter umbrella that I could carry, but it's all cockamamie and horsefeathers and gets lazy and inverted way too easily. Passive, weak, piece of shit umbrella.
I've been trucking around with the good one for over a week and I never get to use it. I keep missing the rain by minutes. The rain knows, I think, that my umbrella would whoop its ass.
So instead, I strut around the Loop in pinstripe pants and dirty Pumas, the staple of office-hour commuters, grasping the handle of my umbrella at my waist like the hilt of a sword.
I hawk at the sky, challenging the clouds.
Try me. I dare you.
At least until the bus gets here.