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The Post Office Debacle

Updated: Dec 17, 2020

With only 7 minutes until the Post Office closed, I was running down the street with a bag of carefully-wrapped, delicate presents on my shoulder and a big canister of helium in my backpack. Don't ask.


At the top of the road, a gaggle of loud teenagers were hanging out. They noticed me just as I tripped over nothing.


My protective instinct caused me to hug my precious gifts so they wouldn't be crushed as I crash landed. Unfortunately, this meant that I couldn't protect myself as my other arm was tangled in the helium bag. I fell like an inebriated walrus and rolled around in the gutter as a wave of high-pitched adolescent laughter washed over me.

One of the Mean Girls asked if I was alright to which I wittily replied, 'I'm fine but my pride is hurt'. My throbbing knee cap violently disagreed as I tried to pull myself up.


The unwieldy bottle of gas unbalanced me and, as I floundered face-down on the pavement once more, one of the witty kids piped up, 'There she goes again..'


The shame.


Remarkably, the parcels were posted and the helium made it to the party in one piece. Which is more than my pride (and knees) could say.


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