The day was just going from bad to worse, so I decided to get the mail. I usually try to take a few hours off on Friday afternoon, and my movies were set to arrive. That'd be fun.
I went out at 10:36 because the mail has been arriving earlier and earlier. My dad questioned whether the mail would be here, but I was confident. I walked the one block to the mail boxes (much harder than it sounds, at least for me).
No mail.
There's a park next to the mail boxes, and I went to go sit down for a few minutes and enjoy the day; confident the mail would arrive shortly. There was a mother with two kids (one not her own). I asked if I could sit down on the next park bench to her, and she said, "knock yourself out." I detected something there, but let it go.
The kids ran around for a bit, and it gave me the idea for a story. I pulled out my notebook to jot down some lines, and one of the kids comes over to me.
"Whaddya doing?" the kid asked.
"Tad!" the mom broke in sharply. "Get away from him. He's dangerous."
Dangerous, am I? Why I oughta....
Who names their kid Tad anyway? I felt like telling the other kid to call Tad "Taddy-wacker." In a few years that would be funny. Instead I just sat there, stung, while the mom gathered up the kids and let them hang off a weak branch of a tree. Nothing like some arborcide to take your minds off the dangerous guy on the park bench.
My neighbor Hagrid (I used to call him "Cherry-Popper," but he looks so much like Hagrid in the face that I had to make the switch) came by with their insufferable dog Tequila. Hagrid told me the regular mailwoman is on holiday, and the new one usually doesn't arrive until noon.
Great.
Now I have to slink back home and explain to my father, who probably won't even make fun of me, which is even worse.
Why did I not follow my edict and go back to bed?
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