or at least it seems funny now. At the time I wasn't sure what to make of it all. I mean, really, what total stranger slips a sealed envelope into your back trousers pocket and then walks away, nonchalant, as if it was an everyday occurrence. Little old ladies whose names are Aunt Rosebud, that's who.
I had never met or even heard of Aunt Rosebud before that day, and have not seen her since, though people tell me she frequently wanders the town, bashing folks over the head with her purse. Strange duck. But then most of my family is strange in one way or another, so the notion of her being a long-lost aunt wasn't too far from the realm of possibilty.
The envelope incident happened at the fair. I was only passing through this quaint, nameless little burgh on my way to... well, no where actually. Anyway, there was this fair, seemed like the perfect place to kill some time waiting for my car to be repaired. I had just stepped down from the karaoke stage, having made a fool of myself. She slipped me the envelope while my back was turned. Inside was a pair of keys and a letter.
"Dear Michael," the letter read. "Glad to see you could make it." Make it? I wasn't even aware I was expected. "Here's a little present to get you started. 79 Crumplebottom Court. The deed is in the mailbox already signed over to you." Typical. How careless can an old woman be with legal documents? "Good luck. Fondly, Aunt Rosebud." She concluded with a postscript, a rather personal postscript disparaging my musical capabilties.
Nevertheless, I did what any redblooded male would do when presented with such an awkward gift. I went back to my motel room and went to sleep. According to the letter, the gift was a piece of property. It wasn't going anywhere. Plus, I'd just spent most of the night flipping chickens, riding wooden horses and making a complete horse's patoot of myself. Besides, everything always looks better in the daylight.
Well, almost everything.