This post’s title is the subtitle from: broken-umbrellas.blogspot.com. In the spirit of that blog, a haiku to help explain this post:

Katie posts pictures,
Of umbrellas now broken.
Now I understand.

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At the site you’ll see lots of pictures of broken umbrellas. Many, many umbrellas from many, many folks. In fact, I even contributed once.

And while I have always enjoyed the collection of discarded and dejected umbrellas, I’ve thought it a little odd how easily people turn on them. I’ve seen some seemingly high-quality umbrellas become causalities on Katie’s blog that I would have expected to warrant at least an attempted patch job, over a public garbage can or muddy gutter.

And then this morning, with my own umbrella, there was an unfamiliar snap as I slid the lock into place to open it. As half of my umbrella collapsed on itself, any admiration, respect or even apathy I held toward it was replaced with utter rage and frustration. In that moment, what had been an otherwise indispensable tool changed to be the sole target of my annoyance and a patronizing constant reminder of why I was, in fact, getting soggier and soggier.

In as much as human feelings can be directed at an inanimate object, I hated it.

And as a result, I now have a whole new appreciation for Better Off Soaked. Each post no longer depicts a sad, lifeless umbrella so much as it infers adamant frustration, matted perms, warped silk blouses and wrung-out neckties.

And I can relate to that. Now.

I imagine the health club failed because:

A) The heavenly aroma of deep-fried happiness is much too alluring for a fat kid on a treadmill.

B) No bench. Where are people supposed to sit while they’re working out?

Thanks for the shot, J&J!