The Umbrella Swap

On my way out of the dentist's office it was pouring, and the receptionist pressed a polka-dot umbrella into my hands. "Bring it back whenever," she said. I didn't have another appointment for six months.

So I kept it by the door, and every time I used it I thought of her. It's bright pink with white dots, the least serious object I own. People smile at it at crosswalks. A toddler on the 14 bus pointed and yelled "Dots!" with total joy.

In the spring I finally went back for my cleaning and handed it over with a box of lemon bars as interest. She laughed and said nobody had ever returned one before. Then she told me to keep it, because I clearly loved it more than the lost-and-found did.

It's leaning against my wall right now. Rain doesn't bother me much these days.