Bounce House Redux

So I spent the last week (every day all day last week) delivering flowers for Mother's Day. Saturday was not only my sister's birthday, but it was apparently the birthday of dozens of kids around Hayward as well, judging by all the bounce houses I saw in people's front yards and driveways.

It was a gorgeous day for bouncing, and at about 3 in the afternoon I pull up to a house, number 169, and start walking to the door. Aside from the strangeness of a little boy about 6 years old answering the door and not having a) any parents home or b) any idea if Mariana lived there, the house was remarkable because of what was next door.

In the driveway adjacent to 169 was a truck with planks of wood making the bed deeper. Painted on the wood was a phone number and a logo. It was a bounce house delivery truck. Like Neo, I saw the source.

And I'll tell you my most common thought over the last week, which went unsaid because I'm polite. "I don't know. There's a card here, maybe you should just read that. If I had to guess, I'd say they were from one of your kids since it's you know, Mother's Day."