We’re walking down the street, about to pass a school yard, when a kid comes up to us and says, “My friend kicked the ball and it went under that car across the street.”
So of course I go and get the ball from under the car, feeling very grown up and sort of, well, “cool" isn’t exactly the word, but certainly helpful.
But when I throw the ball back to the kid, I manage to both throw the ball poorly enough to almost not make it to the kid at all, and throw my hat out in the middle of the street, and then when I go to retrieve my hat I only avoid being hit by a car because the driver of said car has seen that an idiot is about and slows down.
“Whoa!” says the kid, marveling, I presume, at my singular lack of skills, while Katie watches with a simultaneously concerned and embarrassed look on her face, and I find myself pondering that old saying about God looking after fools, drunks, and old people.
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