The Girl with the Red Umbrella

London. Paris. Belgium. Austria.

Pick a country, any country in central Europe.

There is one, undeniable fact that anyone who’s visited or lived in Europe knows; it rains. A lot. Owning an umbrella is a necessity. Owning an umbrella that makes a statement is a necessity to many women and some men here; they want to be remembered, they want to be noticed, to not blend in the crowd. Usually that means Burberry’s latest or Chanel’s classics, but in this case all it took for me to see her, for me to remember her, for her to make a statement without even having to try…was a red, unbranded umbrella.

My best friend told me that whenever I finally did meet the girl I’d be sorely disappointed. He said I’d created a fantasy; my wishful thinking had made the un-named girl into the woman of my dreams. “That’s not what she’s going to be. She’s going to be a normal girl who hasn't the clue why some gent in tweed is gaping at her. She isn't going to be like you dreamed.”

I figured he was probably right, the logic in my brain said he was. It was only sensible to think that she wouldn't be anything like I’d imagined her. That’s usually how things are. But I should have trusted my heart. For when I finally did meet her, it leapt.

I saw and heard and knew in my soul, this woman, this beautiful amazing woman, wasn't exactly what I had dreamed she would be; she was better.