Emerson's Gone Postal
The other day after doing the usual wrestle, chase and "WE'RE NOT GETTING MARSHMALLOWS!" routine at the grocery store, we lined up to check out. Amidst the barrage of polite questions from the cashier, I noticed the mail man step into line behind me. He started to put his few items on the conveyor belt, noticed something behind me, and then picked them back up and stepped back a few feet.
Let's just pause here to point out the obvious. I know, I know. Where was Emerson? Why wasn't I worried? All I can say is that I was trying to figure out where my VIP card was, and assumed Emerson was the one yanking on my shorts. Back to story.
"Do you need any ice or stamps today?" the clerk asked.
As I answered, I saw her eyes flicker down to my right. She opened her mouth to say something, and sensing disaster, I glanced down in time to see Emerson holding the "lane closed" coil thing, stretched as far as he could step back. To my absolute horror, he let the thing go flying, the big heavy metal clip on the end narrowly missing the postal worker's head as he literally jumped out of the way. Everything was quiet for a minute. My mouth hit the floor. The post man very calmly began putting his groceries back on the belt. I heard the sound of little flip flops running away.
After recovering, I apologized profusely to the poor man behind me and to the cashier. I tried to maintain "happy Annie face" while taking my receipt, and gripped the cart preparing myself for a chase. No doubt he was halfway to Produce by now.
As I swung around the corner I heard the postman chuckling.
"Ma'am, it really is OK," he called behind me. "I was that kid too."
Let's just pause here to point out the obvious. I know, I know. Where was Emerson? Why wasn't I worried? All I can say is that I was trying to figure out where my VIP card was, and assumed Emerson was the one yanking on my shorts. Back to story.
"Do you need any ice or stamps today?" the clerk asked.
As I answered, I saw her eyes flicker down to my right. She opened her mouth to say something, and sensing disaster, I glanced down in time to see Emerson holding the "lane closed" coil thing, stretched as far as he could step back. To my absolute horror, he let the thing go flying, the big heavy metal clip on the end narrowly missing the postal worker's head as he literally jumped out of the way. Everything was quiet for a minute. My mouth hit the floor. The post man very calmly began putting his groceries back on the belt. I heard the sound of little flip flops running away.
After recovering, I apologized profusely to the poor man behind me and to the cashier. I tried to maintain "happy Annie face" while taking my receipt, and gripped the cart preparing myself for a chase. No doubt he was halfway to Produce by now.
As I swung around the corner I heard the postman chuckling.
"Ma'am, it really is OK," he called behind me. "I was that kid too."
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