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Mother and a friend are bouncing around on a tour bus somewhere up in Maine. I am so glad she went now before she got old. She is only ninety. I think the part she has liked the most so far, is that she and her friend share a lunch every day. Mother doesn’t eat much and loves saving money. They visited a farm yesterday, kind of interesting since she spent her first fifty-four years on a farm and couldn’t wait to get away. Anyway, I kept getting calls from Mother wanting the other kids’ numbers, numbers that hadn’t changed in years. Was her mind going? Had she had a stroke? I was worried, but didn’t want to distress her.
My sister unraveled the mystery for me. Just before leaving, Mother got a new phone and forgot to have someone programmed her numbers. There’s no way she’d do that for herself. She hates technology.
Mother gets pretty hot about a few things. One of these is problems with mail delivery. One day, she got to her mailbox to find her mail tattered,torn, and lying on the ground. Worst of all, a government check had been ripped. Somebody was going to pay for this crime! Rabid with rage, she cornered a couple of kids who gladly gave up the perpetrator to save their own sorry hides. They’d seen a little blonde-haired girl with pig-tails standing on her pink tricycle rifling through Mother’s box. Mother gave the little snitches a five dollar reward after they located the child’s tricycle parked in front of a house two streets over.
Armed with this information, Mother called the Sheriff’s Department to report the heinous crime. Regaling him every shocking detail, the criminal’s description, description of the getaway vehicle, and last known address. The deputy laughed, asking if she’d had the check back.
“Yes, but that’s not the point. I want this stopped! Tampering with the mail is a Federal Crime!”
“Lady, what do you want me to do, put out an APB on a little three-year-old girl on a pink tricycle?”