Upon leaving an otherwise fine evening at the theater, I was dismayed to find that the mild climate had gone all a-sog with rain and a bit of a chill. To worsen the situation, an alarming number of the ancient dowagers who were standing under the coverage were without umbrellas. Most of the ladies were unaccompanied due to the higher mortality rates of males of the species—that combined with the modern advent of “girls nights outs”—but that knowledge did very little to mend the current predicament.
The breadth of my standard-sized umbrella was certainly enough to provide coverage for two people, but little more. If I gifted my umbrella to any pair of women, dozens more would be stranded or risk a good soaking (which could lead to a demise more rapid than the one currently stampeding toward them thanks to Father Time). On the other hand, if I shuttled each lady one at a time, I would delay the others’ egress so much that it would greatly erode the dwindling hours of their sweet, fleeting lives. As I scanned the parking lot for a rowboat to overturn, a balding, portly man wearing a polo shirt came trundling by under a golf umbrella—a large, carbon reinforced instrument suitable for covering an entire golfing green.
“Sir, you have saved this day and I am glad to call you friend!” I exclaimed.
“What?” said the would-be hero of the night.
“My lady companions require dry transport to their retirement village tram, but I lack sufficient coverage. If you would save me from this embarrassment, I would forever be in your debt.”
“Do you think I have all night to umbrella old ladies around a parking lot? It’s the playoffs, you idi—”
Having been through numerous scenarios like these before, I’ve learned that its always best to silence the speaker as quickly as possible, lest he profane the delicate ears of a lady. I aimed the point of my umbrella between the man’s teeth and drove it out the side of his neck, careful not to cause paralysis by piercing his spinal cord or burst a major blood vessel.
I got a little wet during the whole affair, and it ruined my smaller umbrella, but with the commandeered golf umbrella, I was able to get all of these wonderful, brittle little treasures to either a tram or ambulance, whichever they required.
Oh, and that golf umbrella? I donated it to the Sunnyquake Retirement Village where it has outlived all of the beautiful dear ladies from the night of its liberation.