The nerve . . .

This is my mom's story from yesterday, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did:

In early Spring, I put some old wooden window boxes out by the alley with a "FREE" sign. A woman came along while I was in the yard and took them, with my blessing. TONIGHT, at least five months later, she comes to the back door and explains that they didn't fit exactly right—a bit too wide, etc. I listen to her complaint about the fit. Put them out with the garbage, said I; I sure don't want them back.

Oh, she says, they're too big and the city garbage men won't take them, so I have them in my trunk, gesturing toward the alley – and she looks at me.

I am having a surreal moment. What would I do with them then?—I don't want them, I say. Oh, says batty lady, you could pay a private hauler I suppose.

No, said I – this is sort of like "tag, you're it." They became YOUR window boxes a long time ago.

So, I have to get rid of them," asks the woman who took them for free and now acts like I sold her a Lexus with a warranty …. I think so, said the nice lady in the yellow house.

**Other parts of the live-telling of the story include the woman looking at my mom as if to say, "I am never shopping here again!"