Word of the Day:
Informal: Often Facetious. an umbrella.
There was no doubt about it: The bumbershoot was broken. The fabric was ripped in several places; the handle was bent at an odd angle. The opening/closing mechanism was almost laughably useless.
“See, it wasn’t my fault, exactly,” I said, hoping I might soften and crumble my father’s stony expression.
“I swear it wasn’t my fault,” I said again. “I didn’t try to use it as a parachute; I didn’t drop it or lose it or throw it into traffic; and I didn’t try to use it as a fencing foil.”
His expression became stonier.
“Not that any of those things has ever occurred to me!” I corrected hastily. “Or that I’ve ever tried any of those things with your umbrella. It’s just that, the first time you ever let me use your umbrella, you specifically told me never to do any of those things with it. So I haven’t. See.” I cleared my throat.
“This,” he began slowly, looking as though the words physically pained him. He paused. He swallowed. “This umbrella.” Another pause and another swallow. “Was your great-great-great grandfather’s.” He shut his eyes, as though he couldn’t bear to utter the next words. “It’s from the Antebellum, Jean. The Antebellum.”
I winced. “I know,” I whispered. “But it was just really windy.”
“It was windy.”