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We were watching an old TV show the other evening. And if you know me at all, you already know the odds were heavily stacked toward it being British. That’s not just because of the accent, though let’s be honest, a Yorkshire lilt could make even a grocery list sound like Shakespeare. No, what hooks me are the words themselves.
Back in my early twenties, I was lucky enough to live in a small English village. Ever since, I’ve had one foot firmly planted in American slang and the other happily stuck in the land of “bits and bobs” and “fancy a cuppa.” Even now, decades later, I order “fries” and secretly mean chips and I will defend the glory of a proper sausage roll until my last breath. I honestly thought I had mastered the British lexicon, or at least faked it well enough to pass for a slow-talking cousin from overseas.
But then—cue dramatic pause—a word blindsided me.
In this little show, a character casually referred to an umbrella as…a bumbershoot.
Excuse me? A bumbershoot?! How had this marvelous linguistic unicorn escaped me for so long? I’ve lived in England, survived countless rainy afternoons, and never once heard that. Not from a proper Londoner, not from a farmer in Wellington boots, not even from the cranky old guy at the corner pub who called me “love” while simultaneously insulting my haircut.
“Bumbershoot” is, hands down, one of the most delightful words I’ve ever tripped over. It sounds less like something that keeps you dry in the rain and more like a carnival ride you need Dramamine for. “Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, two tickets for the Bumbershoot—please keep your arms and legs inside at all times!”
So maybe other Carolinians won’t feel the same spark I did when I heard it. But I’ll be over here, practicing my British accent and waiting for a thunderstorm, just so I can finally shout: “Darling, don’t forget your bumbershoot!” Because life is too short to carry an umbrella when you could be wielding a word that sounds like Mary Poppins crash-landed into a Dr. Seuss book.