11.08.25: The Broken Umbrella

There’s a universal sadness to a broken umbrella. The wind flips it inside out, and suddenly you’re standing there, drenched, holding a useless skeleton of metal and fabric. I’ve seen strangers burst out laughing when it happens, not at you but with you, because everyone knows that humiliation. It’s the weather reminding you who’s in charge. Umbrellas are false confidence. The sky tears them apart without effort. Still, we buy them, hoping maybe this time it will hold. It never does. The real survival skill isn’t the umbrella. It’s the ability to laugh while you’re soaked.