I don't have any pictures of this or anything, so you're just going to have to use your imaginations, okay?

Okay. I have a little purse/pocket umbrella. This small umbrella is thoroughly unremarkable except for a button. When you push this button, the umbrella springs into a jaunty "open" position. When you push the button again, it closes up. Thrilling, I know.

I bought this device a week or two ago to replace the device of similar design which was mauled in an unfortunate "This is not a cat-toy, you idiot cat/It is if I say it is, you stupid monkey" incident. Don't ask me how a house-cat bites through an umbrella's metal ribs. I have no idea how. I'm just telling you, that's what happened.

Anyway. This afternoon it was raining when I bopped by the Walgreens on 15th to nab a gallon of milk. I pressed the button again, and the canopy collapsed with a satisfactory snikt, but the umbrella did not fully retract. It's a short umbrella, though. Because I was in a bit of a hurry,* I let it dangle with the handle at full length while I grabbed the milk and paid for it, then I went back outside and tried to reopen the canopy ... but it refused to extend all the way.

So I thought, "Maybe this is one of those fancy-schmancy umbrellas and if you just press the button over and over again and it magically knows what you require of it." But regardless of my repeated, insistent button-pushing, the umbrella remained stubbornly flaccid -- and I was standing there getting wet. So then I thought, "Maybe if I just collapse the whole thing back to pocket/purse size, and then press the button again, it will pop back into the Ready position."

I had never before needed to fully close this particular umbrella, so I was therefore unaware that it was spring-loaded tighter than a longbow. And let me remind you that I was holding a gallon of milk, so I was trying to compress that bad-boy with one hand.

I braced the umbrella's end-knob against my thigh and jammed my palm against the top. No dice. Too unstable. The umbrella wobbled and slid off my leg, which I suppose is a testament to my svelte physique, but was no damn good while I was trying to forcibly restrain an errant rain-gear accessory. So I turned to a broader, flatter surface -- my stomach. I braced the end-knob against my belly button and wrestled with the far end of the umbrella. It probably looked like I was trying to commit seppuku with a rolling pin wearing a raincoat, but there you go.

And it was approximately at this moment that the man with the chihuahua began to jaywalk across 15th. They were almost halfway across the street when my grip on the umbrella faltered, and the umbrella leaped -- using my rock-hard abs as a springboard from which to assault some unwitting fellow in the midst of a minor misdemeanor.

Or to give the incident less decoration: I shot a man in the ass with my umbrella.

And it's not like he didn't know it was me who done it. As soon as the umbrella left my torso, I threw my hands to my mouth in the universal gesture of OH HOLY CRAP THIS IS NOT HAPPENING -- I AM NOT ABOUT TO SHOOT A MAN IN THE ASS WITH THE BUSINESS END OF MY UMBRELLA -- YEP, THERE IT GOES, OH GOD HELP ME.

I stood there, looking like a damp idiot, and the guy started laughing -- but his dog went bananas. I guess when you're the size of a toaster, it's not very often that you get a chance to defend your human against something you've got a chance of taking down. And buddy, this pooch was ready to carpe the hell out of that diem.

Let me be clear: I didn't want to hurt the dog. I just didn't want to lose umbrella #2 to knee-high mammal #2. What am I, made of money?

Out into the road I dashed, gallon of milk still swinging from one hand like a liquid-filled anchor, and with the other hand, I tried to pry the umbrella away from the dog.

Now, for the record, a gallon of milk is kind of heavy. It was not necessarily my fault if -- while trying to pry an umbrella out of a small dog's mouth -- a gallon of milk might have accidentally (I swear to GOD, accidentally) swung down and punted that small dog a couple of feet, startling it into releasing the bone of contention.

To sum up: the dog was unharmed. That little bastard was wearing a leash with a harness, so he just snapped back into place like a highly irate tether ball.

His owner had dissolved into hysterical fits of laughter. All three of us were holding up traffic. I apologized profusely, gave up on unfurling my successfully retrieved umbrella, and dashed home ... where upon arriving, my cat smelled "strange dog" all over the thing and promptly attacked it.

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* I was getting ready to go meet Kat Richardson for a writer-type pow-wow of tremendous secrecy and importance ... which is to say, we gossiped and drank coffee for about 4 hours.