“Harold is laughing right about now,” she said, pondering her fingernails stretched out in front of her in order to avoid the accusing stare. Just because she had spent nearly seventy years being on the receiving end of that stare didn’t mean she particularly enjoyed it. It was just a part of being sisters.
“Why are you changing the subject?” her sister snapped, her eyes glaring. It was her usual reaction when she faced something that worried her. “And who in the world is Harold?”
“Don’t rightly know just off the top of my head,” she replied nonchalantly, “but I am sure somewhere in this big ol’ world we live in, that somewhere there is some fella named Harold, and chances are just as good that he’s laughing. Right. This. Minute.”
And that hushed her sister up and they never spoke of the incident again. Or Harold.
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The woman bent over the receipts in a pile on the table that had been submitted for reimbursement. She picked one up, and peered at it over her glasses. She pointed at the total at the bottom.
“See, that right there–that’s a lot of money for a lunch for two folks.” She held it out for the aging clerk to see.
The clerk, who had been at this job in this office more years than those boys eating that lunch had been alive, shook her head in disapproval. “Yes, that sure is a lot.”
The woman looked it over again. “AND–” she began, quite emphatically, “They ordered cheese dip.”
Oh my.
The elderly clerk rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. The other woman stood up straight. From a corner of the room, the man looking through files on the top of the cabinets, spoke up. “Well now, they’re both big boys, but still, $8.17 does seem like a lot to spend on a lunch. Did they order drinks too?”
The woman holding the receipt looked down again. Finding the answer, she clutched her pearls and said in a shocked near whisper, “Yes. Sweet Tea.”
Holding back a chuckle, the visitor in the waiting area decided not to interrupt this important conversation. This was, after all, small town government at its best.
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May you hear entertaining stories–in real life or in your mind, either one–for that’s the good stuff that keeps us going–other folks and their good stories. Real and make-believe. What story are you carrying? Go make somebody’s day and share it. And then sit and listen to theirs. It’s a win-win. They all need telling.
Love to all.
Chicken Trolls 
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