Opening an umbrella indoors brings bad luck

Scene: Luciana’s living room in São Paulo. It’s raining outside.

Luciana walks in holding a wet umbrella and absentmindedly opens it to dry.

Mateus (gasping dramatically):
Lu! What are you doing? You opened an umbrella inside the house?

Luciana (yelping, closes it quickly):
Oh my God, I forgot! Mateus, help me—this is bad, real bad. Now something awful is going to happen. I just know it.

Mateus (chuckling):
Relax, you’re not summoning a thunderstorm in the living room. It’s just fabric and metal. No ancient spirits were disturbed.

Luciana (wide-eyed):
You joke, but do you remember when Mariana opened an umbrella inside her apartment? Two days later, her boyfriend broke up with her and her dog ran away.

Mateus:
Maybe her boyfriend was tired of hearing about the dog wearing matching raincoats. And I’m pretty sure the dog ran away because she tried to feed it kale.

Luciana (crossing her arms):
There are just some things you don’t mess with. My vó used to say, “Open an umbrella indoors, and trouble opens with it.” She also warned about whistling at night—you attract snakes.

Mateus (grinning):
Snakes? In your apartment? What, are they going to slither up the elevator? Press the button for floor five?

Luciana (trying not to laugh):
I’m serious! It’s not just about the umbrella—it’s about respecting the energy in a place. When you break those unwritten rules, the universe notices.

Mateus:
Lu, I love your stories, but let me ask: why would the universe care where you open your umbrella? There’s no scientific mechanism for that.

Luciana:
Not everything can be explained with science, Doctor Logic. Sometimes it’s about vibe. Like when you feel someone staring at you—and you turn, and they are. Explain that.

Mateus:
Actually, it’s been studied. It’s called a “false positive.” Your brain constantly scans for patterns, and when you get it right, you remember it. When you’re wrong, you forget it. It’s how our ancestors survived in the wild.

Luciana (smirking):
So my grandma was just running an ancient pattern recognition algorithm?

Mateus (pretending to nod seriously):
Exactly. She was basically a very warm, very wise version of a neural net.

Luciana:
Okay, science boy, let’s test it. Open the umbrella again. Right now. Let’s see how brave you are.

Mateus (grabbing the umbrella):
With pleasure.

Luciana (backing away):
No no no! Not here! Take it to your apartment. If your blender explodes tonight, don’t come crying to me.

Mateus (laughing):
Deal. But if nothing happens, you owe me a coxinha and a night of no superstition talk.

Luciana (grinning):
Fine. But if anything weird happens, like your neighbor’s cat staring at you through the window or your TV turning on by itself—

Mateus:
—Then I’ll consider the possibility that the umbrella gods have a sense of humor.

Luciana (laughing):
Just don’t tempt fate too much. Brazil has enough mysteries already without you opening portals in my living room.

Mateus (winking):
Fair enough. But just so you know, I’m bringing an umbrella to the next family gathering—indoors.

Luciana (playfully grabbing a cushion to throw at him):
You better not, or I’ll tell my vó and she’ll hex you with seven spoons and a papaya.

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[Fade out with laughter and thunder outside. The umbrella sits peacefully on the table, completely unaware of its controversial status.]