Umbrella Boy(s)

Item #1- Men & their Umbrellas

It’s rather fitting that my first post be on New York men. They are an entirely unique and at times abominable entity unto their own and worthy of the million observations which will be due them. In short, they are fucking fascinating creatures: obsessed with success, ambiguously gay, ready and willing to engage in sexual Olympics, and very well read. Thus their prediliction to blackberries, hair products, condomless whoring, and impressive libraries. But there is one element that I really fail to understand the magnitude of- their attachment to Umbrellas.

This was brought to my attention by a friend. The scene was set thus: gorgeous, leggy fashion buyer and bad-boy turned wildly successful M&A Banker meet at a club via a very good mutual friend. Drinks were consumed, charming conversation readily exchanged, and proverbial dance cards filled. As young, attractive and/or successful people with little concern for bourgeois propriety are wont to do, girl and boy go home together and a night of what is described as terrific exploits ensues.

She awoke at 6 am to catch a last glimpse of him running for the door.

A week passed and no words were exchanged. Chalking it up to his lack of manners, she left it alone. That is, until he called the young female banker who introduced them in the first place and requested that she retrieve his umbrella from Buyer Girl’s home and not so kindly leave it with the doorman so that he might pick it up.

Buyer girl was obviously shocked and horrified.

Where, she asked, did he get off doing this to someone who was 8 notches above him on the attractiveness Richter scale? (It should be noted that for a guy to be an asshole is rude, but for an ugly guy to be an asshole to an attractive woman is unforgivable). For such a glaring display of cowardice, she reasoned, it would have at least been more honorable to ask her directly than to embarrass her further by involving their friend.

I myself was more interested in why the actual umbrella was so fucking important. He could definitely afford a new one, it didn’t seem to be molded of solid gold or have Mary Poppins-like superpowers, and it didn’t even have a compass built into the handle like the one my father carries. It was a second rate umbrella, one step up from the $4.99 variety that I buy at the bodega on a weekly basis. The man obviously had issues.

Or so I thought, until a few weeks ago when a gentleman caller of my own left his umbrella at my place. The next day, I received the following text message:

“uhh…by the way…I left my umbrella at your place. J…no rush to get it back though ”

I glanced at the umbrella in question- back, standard issue, with a slightly sturdier handle than most but definitely not warranting its own awkward text message. I laughed. Another seemingly normal man, another lame attempt to retrieve an embarrassingly insignificant item from a woman’s house.

What was this all about? Was this the modern day equivalent of “leaving your earrings on his bedside table” in the reverse? Did men leave umbrellas at girls’ apartments the city over just to have an excuse to stake the opposite claim, that they wanted no traces whatsoever of their affairs to be left behind or remembered?

As luck would have it, we’ve been out a few times since, and I’d forgotten all about it until the other evening as I caught it glaring at me: mid-make out with Umbrella Boy #2. I took pause- could he really still be dating me because of the prospect of getting his umbrella back? All signs point to yes. I have called him at 2 am, sunsequently kicked him out when other friends were coming over after the club, and made no attempts whatsoever to conduct myself in ladylike fashion. Yet he still lingers, making vague mentions of the umbrella he has kept here but has never had the keen sense to take back with him.

I haven’t quite arrived at the answer but I do know is this: dating someone you mildly like for an item that keeps you dry (and excuse my vulgarity here but the comparison is really rather apt) can’t be much worse than dating someone you hate because they make you wet.

And every reader is guilty of this on at least one occasion.