Under My Umbrella, Ella, Ella, Ella, Eh, Eh.
I fully admit that I’m not one for umbrellas. I can see the appeal, big time, however I’ve spent my life reaching for a brolly the minute the sky opens to find it missing. I of course blame the Husband, who was last see heading East, his being covered by a leopard print monstrosity (not mine I hasten to add. But if it’s not mine, who the hell’s is it ?). Yet again, no brolly for me and my make-up.
The times I HAVE managed to lay my hands on one of the blighters, I prompty forget about the extra accessory out with me for the day, leaving it alone and desolate and waiting patently for a new owner.
I made peace with my umbrella problem years ago, deciding to take the kamikaze attitude to rain fall. That’s it Ladies, I went commando. Not in the strictest sense I hasten to add. All was fine until this Summer when, not only was the rainfall at record levels, I also had the Munchkin to contend with.
Following on from a disastrous trip out this week where she refused, on pain of tantrum, to neither travel in her buggy nor use her umbrella, I had to contend with the scathing looks of Mothers who had their Children fully under control. How could I expect her to use an umbrella when I was so bravely getting wet, and sporting make-up that would make Alice Cooper proud ?
Having done a little surfing I’ve unearth a genius invention. An umbrella that I finally can’t loose, Buggy Brolly does exactly what it says on the tin. Of course it doesn’t take care of the Munchkin free moments, but quite frankly the fact that they’re Munchkin free ensure swift power-walking through the downfall, and a minute or two to reapply a bit of slap on arrival.
