Everyone's familiar with those thank-you letters people write to the public when some stranger around town does something nice for them. You know the ones: "Thanks to the young man who found my dog, Snookers," or ". . . who helped my three-thousand year old great-great great-great-great-great grandmother with a glass eye and a peg leg cross the street with her groceries." Well, here's one for the fellow who found my wallet and left it in my mother's mailbox on Oakview Highway, after it was lost during an errand in Maidstone Park: Thank you for returning it almost intact.
But I'd love it if you'd stop by again and meet my three-month-old daughter, whose precisely budgeted baby formula money meant to last the week was apparently kept as a tip. I'll make the tea and you can stop at the IGA and grab a can of Enfamil on your way over, since she should be pretty hungry by then.
Although close, you didn't quite score the label "Good Samaritan" this week, you jerk.