Small-Town America

Boy-Howdy! as my friend Abel says. What an interesting afternoon.

I was at the post office figuring out the shipping costs to send out copies of my book. The next thing I knew, I was meeting all kinds of local folks.

First, another customer walked in and saw my book on the counter. She looked at the cover, looked at me, looked back at the cover, and then back at me. I smiled and said, “Yep, that’s me.”

She replied, “I’d like a copy of that book.”

I took her name and number and said I’d contact her when they came in.

Out in the parking lot, she asked “whereabouts I lived.” I said I was a few roads over and lived in the house with the Wayside Wisteria sign. She said, “Oh, that’s the house where the criminal was hiding in the fireplace.”

“Yes, that would be the one.” I’d heard the stories.

“And the house where the woman had her baby in the bathtub.”

“Right again.”

I reassured her that all of these things happened to the previous owners and we were pretty average people.

Back inside the post office, I told the Postmaster (who also wants a copy of the book) about all the stories going around about our house and a couple in the lobby piped up, “Oh, you teach piano lessons to our granddaughter.”

I replied, “I talk about her in the first page of my book.” Small world.

 

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