Happy belated Thanksgiving, all. Or as they say here, happy belated fourth-Thursday-in-November!
I meditated for a long time about what I am thankful for--or rather what one thing I am thankful for which would make an enjoyable blog post related to both Thanksgiving and my UK experience.
I considered writing about all of the wonderful people in my life who have helped shape who I am today. Too mushy. I considered the wonderful academic institution I attend in DC that made my study abroad experience possible. Too academic. I considered the joy of finding boxes of Ritz crackers in Sainsbury's when I was feeling homesick. Too fattening.
Then, following a miraculous occurrence on my walk to school this morning, it finally dawned on me: I am thankful for brollies. In particular, I am thankful for my brolly.
For those of you not up on all the hip-British vernacular (Don't worry, I'm not either), a brolly is an umbrella. Given the kind of weather the British Isles are prone to experiencing, it seems appropriate that they have developed multiple words for this particular accessory.
My story begins with my arrival in London. Aware of the city's reputation for perpetual precipitation, we had packed an umbrella ahead of time in preparation. This umbrella, while a little old and beat up, was sufficient rain protection for about a week and half, when I carelessly left it at the bus stop in a rush to class one morning. The sky was particularly gray that day, so I figured it was best not to take chances and bought the first umbrella I saw at the campus gift store. Londoners are used to rain, I thought to myself, so surely any umbrella in this city will be of adequate quality. Yes, I thought that. Sometimes I place too much credence in stereotypes.
The blasted thing folded like a cheap suit the first time I deployed it. Hoping this would be only a rare annoyance, I held onto it. After a few uses, however, it became obvious that this thing would go Mary Poppins on me at the slightest breeze. Its final doom came during a previously mentioned trip to Greenwich a few weekends ago, when heavy winds warped it so much that its spokes got tangled together. I was forced to take shelter under the hot pink interior of Ashley's bumbershoot for the remainder of the trip.
Determined not to be humiliated by Mother Nature again, I decided I would do some serious shopping for the ultimate umbrella, one that was wind-resistant and met the perfect size ratio between size and portability. After some clicking around on Amazon UK, I found one and ordered it. Of course, that left me about a week without an umbrella while it shipped, and the skies made certain to exploit this weakness. I got damp on a couple of occasions, but I knew my day of revenge would come.
And come it did, in a white, two foot long cylinder wrapped in packaging tape and a sticker with my name on it. I unsheathed my new Excalibur and inspected its steel double reinforced, wind-resistant glory. The black hilt feels smooth and sturdy with an elegant green deployment button set prominently in the center. I have never been so enthusiastic about 97 diametric centimeters of portable weather shelter. The next fifteen minutes were devoted to dancing around my room singing "Hello, Brolly" over Louis Armstrong's "Hello, Dolly" and playing Ella's "A Foggy Day (in London Town)" on repeat.
I haven't seen so much blue sky over London since my first week here. It is as if every water droplet over the Thames is now terrified to leap when I am about for fear of being repelled by the Death Star now housed inside my backpack.
This morning, I began my journey to school under a clear sky. The wind was blowing gently, and the Thames was quiet. It appeared a wonderful opportunity to walk along the river, to pass Tower Bridge, St. Paul's Cathedral, the Tate Modern, and Shakespeare's Globe. Yes, I have an awesome commute. As I neared Blackfriars Bridge, however, I noticed the sky over my route was growing blacker as rain clouds rolled in from the Atlantic.
Undeterred, I proceeded with confidence. My secret weapon was holstered safely in my backpack, ready to deploy when the time came. As I reached Blackfriars, a light drizzle began to fall. I set down my bag and removed Dolly (the Brolly) as a preemptive strike. Mother Nature got the hint: I meant business.
The Red Sea parted, the sun broke through the clouds, and I continued with my journey undamped. The green button remained unpressed. As I approached Aldwych, I couldn't help but sing in my head, "Blue skies! Smiling at me! Nothing but blue skies, do I see..."
Am I a dork? Yes. But don't mess with me. I have a brolly, and I know how to use it.
