Special Delivery

I was sitting at my desk when Zip sauntered in and announced, “Someone knocked over our mailbox.”

“What?!”

“Someone knocked over our mailbox, but it was an accident.”

I ran outside to see the damage.

There at the end of my driveway was a woman in her early twenties, trying to gingerly prop our mailbox back into place while supporting a very expensive fiberglass bike with her hip.

“Are you alright?” I asked, calculating the cost of the narrow custom tires, which I’m guessing set her back a couple thousand dollars, not to mention the frame itself.

“Is your bike o.k?”

“Oh!” She laughed sheepishly, her cheeks flushing pink.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I looked down to change gears and when I looked up I was flying over the top of your mailbox!- I’m SO sorry!” she added once again, trying to position it back into place.

“Don’t worry about our mailbox.” I said. “It’s been knocked over before. I’m more worried about you and your bike. Are you alright?”

“I think so.” She looked up embarrassed like it was the first time she’d thought about it.

She dusted herself off and got onto her bike to see that everything was in working order. She circled back around, confirming that she was indeed fine.

“That’s a funny little boy you’ve got. I was lying on the ground trying to catch my breath when I looked up to find him standing over me.”

“You know you knocked over our mailbox” he said.

“But that’s O.K.”