Monday, April 10, 2006

The prerequisite “guy taking the purse” story

Secure being a relative term. We take the ratchet straps and loop them around the trailer to make it at least semi-stable. Then we try to cram the boat in somewhere. A single guy sidles over, thin, 50-ish, glasses, hands in pockets. He asks if we need some help.

“Sure,” we accept. The three of us, using what menial physics theory we all know, manage to tilt the boat and wedge it into the back of the Uhaul. The man tips his hat (if he had a hat), gets into his pickup and drives off.

Donnie and I start loading the rest of the boxes from my car and his truck into the back of the Uhaul. We decide to leave a lot of the heavy stuff in the back of his truck. I decide now is a good time to check my phone and see what time it is.

“Did you see my purse?”

“It was at the end of the truck bed.”

We both stop what we are doing and look around. No purse. I think of the guy who helped us. Could he have taken my purse? I voice this to Donnie and he easily accepts the possibility. Suddenly I start thinking over all the help we have taken without any thought as to the possible devious means behind it.

But before I get too angry at being deceived, I check my car, and there is my purse, exactly where I have kept it all through the trip. I feel nasty.

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