One Last Thang

by Myrna McAdam Mills

Judgments

I find I do little thangs wrong:

I park in a handicapped space in front of the drugstore. I figure I won't be long because I only have two thangs to buy and besides, since one of them is a prescription I figure I'm handicapped enough.

I buy a couple of throw pillows and put them on the couch. Little white thangs stick out of them, the thangs that say "Do not remove under penalty of law." Whose law? I lock the door and draw the curtains to make sure nobody sees me cut them off.

I throw batteries away in the regular trash.

I go through the express checkout line in the grocery store. I have eleven thangs. The sign says "Only Nine Thangs Allowed." I hide two thangs under the other nine so the lady behind me won't sound the store alarm.

I go to the "Five and Ten Dollar" store that used to be the "Five and Dime." While examining a very fragile, pretty thang, it jumps from my hands and the sound of breaking glass echoes throughout the store. I pick it up and push it back into the box. I make a run for the next aisle and push it under the wicker baskets and walk slowly out the door. I don't want the thang now. Who would? It's broken.

I reuse postage stamps. I check my mail and sometimes I catch one of the thangs that hasn't been canceled. I peel it off and save it next to my thang of rubber cement so I can use it when I mail out my next bill.

Now I'm going to get myself a really good job. Then I can save enough money to do some big thangs wrong.