Yesterday I went to the post office to mail a few things and decided to pay with my debit card instead of using cash.  Daughter is with me, flitting around, complaining about being hungry, trying to get me to buy baseball stamps instead of the normal ones I always get.  Cell phone has gone off twice while I was trying to fill out a customs form.  In short, I’m harried.

“Does this package contain anything liquid, chemical, blah, blah, blah or potentially hazardous?”

“It’s books,” I said.  “So I guess not.”

Postmam smiles.  “Romance books, right?”

“Right.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Cash, credit or debit?”

“Debit,” I say, handing over my card.

“Do you want any cash back?”

“No, thank you.”

“Mind if I get twenty?”

It took a minute for this joke to penetrate, but when it did I found it unreasonably funny.