Better Safe Than Sorry
I thought I saw the mailman deliver a pizza to Mrs. Gillespe across the street. Maybe I should go over there and see if it's got correct postage, or just a slice of pepperoni instead of a stamp. She's the kind that kisses the Italian vegetable man or pets stray tigers, and I wouldn't put it past her to cheat on the postage. I'm a taxpayer. Just looking after my own money. But, I could be wrong. It could have been a cake or a ficus tree. It could have been the milkman bringing her a sofa and matching chair. I sometimes see things, you know.
Oh, she's seen me, here she comes now.
"Emily," she says, holding out a covered plate. "I've just baked. Thought you'd like some cookies."
I take them, close the door, don't invite her in, then feed them to the dog. I love him, but better him than me if they're poisoned.
submitted at 9:54pm
5 July 2009