Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Don't open that

I've developed a type of mail-phobia. It came about fairly innocently. And it doesn't involve packages. I love getting boxes in the mail, especially those with Amazon on them.

My fear is of large envelopes. Large envelopes that contain flat people in them. Flat Stanley. Flat Will. It doesn't matter how you spin it. Don't send me Flat Child in the mail and ask me to tote him around town and take pictures of him. I've done my time.

Actually, if you don't care what he's wearing, I can do a Flat Stanley or even your child, if he resembles my nephew Will. You don't even have to mail me anything. Just send me an email or call and I'll send you off a packet of Flat Stan or Flat Will or Flat Joe (if he looks like Will). I've got the Publisher file saved in my computer. It just might take me a day or two to get it put together and in the mail.

All I ask is that the next time you see me, you take me out for a drink--tea, wine, doesn't matter. And you consider yourself fair game for when my daughter reads Flat Stanley at school and she needs you to reciprocate. I promise to give you advance notice.

But if you decide to send me--unannounced--a Flat Child in the mail, I don't accept responsibility for possibly feeding your Flat Child to the horses. I'm currently out of carrots.

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