Lorraine
A story for your rainwear site. It has appeared other places on the Net. It's all basically true but kind of composite.
Back around 20-25 years ago, I was in my early twenties, studying at Melbourne
Uni, and my girlfriend of the time, Jenny, also a student, lived a mile or so
off the campus and about half a mile from where our shared favourite football
(Aus Rules) team played. We arranged to go together to see a match one Saturday,
after we had been out together one evening mid-week. That night the weather
had looked dodgy, so Jenny brought her umbrella with her, but it turned out
we had not needed it and she forgot to take it when I dropped her home.
The following Saturday morning, I noticed the weather was threatening again as I crossed the road to her house, and remembered her brolly was still sitting on my back seat. It was a Shelta umbrella that telescoped into a mushroom shape, vivid red, gold-chromed frame and shaft, nice shape, immaculately clean and well-looked-after, the perfect size for two to walk snugly and comfortably beneath. I thought about going back to fetch it but the traffic was against me, so I didn't.
As she let me in Jenny had laid out her old trench coat (off-white, full length,
well looked after but also well maintained) and football scarf ready to put
on and go. She was a lovely, tallish, elegant lady, with curly dark hair just
below her shoulders and a wonderful pretty,
expressive, laughing face.
As we finished our coffee we heard the first drops of rain on the window. She slipped her coat on, so easily it seemed almost to set on her shoulders of its own accord, did up a couple of buttons and turned to me.
'Is my brolly still in your car?' she asked, just as a particularly heavy squall of rain hit. I nodded, and made to get up and fetch it. But then Jenny tucked her hair inside her collar, which was unusual enough to catch my attention, then put both hands in her coat pockets and produced a plastic rain hat which she proceeded to remove from its pouch and let hang over the back of her hand. She noticed my expression (only registering it as surprise; I never knew I was so good at deadpan acting) and smiled. I offered aloud this time to dash over the road and fetch her umbrella, needing as much as anything to cool myself off, but she shook her head.
Actually, besides surprise, I wasn't really sure what I felt at that point. Although I had always had a secret weakness for plastic rain hats since I found the girls school next to mine decreed them as standard wet-weather gear, I was well aware that by 1980 they had developed a 'square' image problem. Any lady under the age of about 60 who wore one was probably the type who as a girl was considered 'sensible', or boring, the sort who always carried a clean handkerchief and whose life still aspired no higher than seeking the approval of her elders. Jenny was none of those things, and much as I was aroused by plastic rain hats, I was not immune from judgements about those who wore them. Besides, I couldn't understand my lovely Jenny wanting to encase those wonderful black curls in Grandma's plastic bonnet.
But here she was telling me she actually wanted to wear it. She had bought it as soon as she realised where she had left her umbrella and had been looking forward to a chance to wear a rain hat for the first time since she was a little girl, and had always had thought they were fun.
With that, she slowly but steadily unfolded it, carefully placed it over her
hair, turned to her reflection in the window, adjusted the RB neatly on her
head, and tied the bow under her chin. As she released the ties from her hands,
she turned back to me, pulled the back down over her coat collar, picked up
her basket of goodies, put her team scarf around her neck, extended her hand
towards me and
smiled.
'Let's go! Go Blues!!!' she beckoned. Win, lose or draw, today was already ooking like a great day!
TO BE CONTINUED
BJ
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