If you are not acquainted with my Number Three, well, let’s just say he is an unusual, bizarre, interesting young man. Once or twice a week, he and I venture into town to run errands (and stop for a milkshake at Cafe Paris). Lately, Carter has been treating these little jaunts as assignments that he (spy boy) must undertake. Today, for example, we went into town to get the mail, pick up milk and water from the grocery store, and enjoy a slushee from the Snack Shack (Cafe Paris was closed).

As I pulled up in front of the Post Office, I asked Carter if he would run in and get the mail for me.

“Sure,” he said.

I then watched as he jumped out of the vehicle, ducked down, and then dashed from car to car down the block. Looking left and right, he then ran up the Post Office steps and darted inside. A few minutes later he reappeared. I watched as he flattened himself against the side of the building and waited till the old man with the cane hobbled up the stairs and went inside. When he was sure the coast was clear, he sprinted for the car, opened the door, and flung himself into the seat.

Whew. Mission accomplished. Phone bill safely delivered!