May 17, 2011
I was driving through my neighborhood this afternoon when something out of the ordinary caught my eye. Or rather a lot of somethings.
I slammed on the brakes.
"Are those our balls?" I asked my offspring. I pointed to the eight objects floating in the middle of a large retention pond in the distance.
I sent one of my kids on a scouting mission. He came back with a Duke basketball under his arm.
"Every ball we own is out there," I said matter-of-factly. "How in the world did they get there?"
No one could explain the specifics. All they knew was that if you shoved an object down the storm drain that it would eventually end up in the pond behind the neighbors' houses.
"Everyone owes me a million dollars," I said.
That should cover the replacement cost of the balls, plus pain and suffering.