Perhaps I've mentioned that I pass my tabloids on to my mom when I'm done reading them. She, in turn, gives them to her neighbor across the road, who hands them off to a chain of old ladies until they end up at the thrift store. The less fortunate have "Enquiring" minds too, you know.
Mom said that yesterday she walked down to the neighbor's mailbox and put in the third-hand tabloids. Not afraid of federal prosecution for mail tampering is she. "Oh, and I had just a little bit of Chex Mix left. So I put it in a snack-size baggie and put that in, too. It was only about half full. Last night, Mr. Neighbor called me. 'I'm sorry to bother you during the World Series. I know how you like to watch baseball. But I just wanted to thank you for the mix. It was SO good. I love that stuff.'"
Any other person would have tossed out those remaining crumbs. Not my thrifty mother. If somebody left a half-full snack-size baggie of Chex Mix in MY mailbox, you can bet I would be callin' and askin' if it was full when she left it. I can't seem to trust my mailman, you know.
Mom has another batch of Chex Mix in her future. "I'm making it for the church bazaar. I was going to give them a donation, but they asked specifically for my Chex Mix." Let the record show that Mom always calls it 'Check Mix.'
Her neighbor, who came here from Czechoslovakia many years ago, is not the least offended by her giving him Czech Mix.