Dear Sir,

As you spritely leapt down the street, what possessed you to carry your umbrella unfurled?

You were quite the spectacle in in your crisply pressed linen trousers with the pleat just so; a starched white shirt, fashionable tie, and jacket, your leather loafers clattering as a military tattoo to announce your arrival.  (We couldn’t help but to hear you coming. )

Your decision to impose as a standard-bearer begs the question as to your chosen use of banner – the open umbrella – did you draw upon images of a proud Maasi warrior’s shield or a heroic knight’s coat of arms?   It wasn’t raining.  The sun wasn’t at its  pinnacle.  Were you buffeting the wind?  The breeze was mild.  Passers-by were left to lunge and scuttle out of your path as you deflected potential blows from who knows whom.

I think I can speak for all of my fellow pedestrians and Bodega shoppers on the corner of Second Avenue and E. 28^th, when I say that we weren’t too eager to lose an eye, nor experience a facial scrape from the raptor-like wingspan of your pseudo-parasol-shield-whatever you were trying to make it, nor suffer impalement on the adorning ferrule.

Was this necessary?

Pourquoi?  La parapluie, monsieur, pourquoi?