You know, when you picked me out of a rack in Paris, I was surprised. I mean, you were dressed in black, black, and black; I am pink, beige, orange, and very, very bright. But I’ve enjoyed spearheading your wardrobe diversification. I’ve traveled four continents and innumerable countries with you. And I can say in all honesty that I’ve gotten beaten up, but you never let me mould. In return, I have never, ever flipped out on you.
But now, it’s time to let me go. I’m tired. I’m old. The junk drawer is exactly where I belong, along with your broken pencil case from Grade 2 and that handbag which, quite frankly, I’m insulted you bought because it so did not go with me.
It’s been a good ride.
Your soon-to-be ex-umbrella […]