Monday, August 11, 2008
Dean is threatening to call UPS again. The driver of the route that goes past our house has a tendency to put the pedal to the metal a bit and nothing raises Dean's ire like the scent of a speeding vehicle. I have often been thankful that we do not own a shotgun. I have no doubt that there would be a graveyard of shattered rear windows on the asphalt in front of our house if we did. Often when I am inside while he is in the front yard with Frankie, I will hear a bitter "SLOW DOWN, PLEASE." I know first-hand that his words belie a deep hostility since they were once accompanied by a snowball. But Dean thinks if he says "please", though it is said in the same tone one would say "may you die a thousand tortuous deaths", then the driver will be forced by the sheer reasonableness of his wording into a moment of self-reflection and will think, my goodness, that polite man has got a point here, it's time I eased up a bit on the gas.