I had to toss my son’s long, pointed umbrella last night, as it finally gave up the ghost. The white plastic pieces on the shaft had gone brittle and cracked. It must have been 20 years old, and it took up several feet of space, not having been invented during the collapsible, compact years.
They mustn’t make them like that anymore, as our newer, smaller umbrella ribs can’t seem to last longer than a set of tires, and they certainly snap in a solid wind.
However, we live in Texas, where it rains as many fingers as I have per year. It’s enough to make us want to run out and dance in it–and we have! But never to this extent.