l’échange de parapluie

by jemma margaret

What with all of Monday’s feasting, it wasn’t until we were halfway home (uphill) from Angelina that my mother realized she had left her umbrella there. Since the weather report forecasted showers aplenty, this was a serious matter indeed.

Only two days later I was hoping my mother had taken shelter in the rough weather when she burst dripping through the door (or rather struggled with the key and walked in–it is a difficult door to unlock.) Wisely, she had purchased a new umbrella on her way home.

And then there was one.

The next day my mother went to the Louvre, which is just across the way from Angelina. She stopped in and inquired (in French so I am told) after her parapluie. The host brought forth about twenty umbrellas somewhat in accord with her description, but unlike Goldilock’s porridge and Cinderella’s glass slippers, none were exactly right.

With admirable honesty, my mother confessed that these were not her umbrellas. To which the host replied, “Choisissez, madame.”

And then there were two.

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