Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • My umbrella is rusty.
    It is supposed withstand getting wet - it is an umbrella.
    Maybe it doesn't know this.

    One of its branches (are they called branches? I was also toying with "legs"....) is broken.
    Just to make life even more enjoyable as it teams down with rain,
    in London's busy Piccadilly,
    packed with tourists,
    I huddle under my broken brolly,
    completely unprotected from the falling water,
    and having to prop up the the rusted limb with my arm,
    as I'm bashed about by the crowd.

    I arrive, flustered and wet.
    Thankful for the tea and conversation.

    We leave.
    He opens is big umbrella, and offers me shelter.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.