One thing is clear. I dont like the umbrellas. (Even when it happens to arrive home completely wett). Or maybe only some of them. I dont know not even one umbrella who resisted more than one rain in my hands. Sometimes one spoke breaks. Or more than one. Sometimes it comes over its head because of the wind. Or over my head. Another time, I remain with its handle in my hand. Maybe because I played too much with it. And they are days when the button of the umbrellas breaks. And I can open it anymore. I am a plague for the poor umbrella. Or maybe only for its spokes.
But still, they are some umbrellas that I love. Like the red umbrellas from a black and white photography. The transparent umbrella which let you see the rain falling. The umbrella of a child going to school. The umbrella that you can open home, when nobody sees you, and play with it in front of the mirror. Gene Kelly’s umbrella. Lovers umbrella which are walking through the rain happy to be together under the colorful sky of the same umbrella.