A friend once boasted about me that all it took was a simple word to trigger a plethora of tales from my memory bank. Actually that's not too far from the truth. One such word is "bomb." That horrible sounding word stirs up at least three funny stories.
My mom will get a kick out of this one in particular. The year was 1996 when we prevailed upon a local Dallas man to bring down an extra suitcase of things from my mother when he traveled to Oaxaca. She had made arrangements to drop it off on his porch one Sunday morning. When she phoned to double check that he had received it, he told her there wasn't any suitcase on his porch! When they conferred a bit longer, he realized that she must have left the bag at the wrong house.
Going outside, he figured out right away which house had the mystery bag. There were fire trucks, police cars and neighbors all around as the bomb squad prepared to examine the strange suitcase. Inside, all they found were children's clothes, birthday presents, books, and Sunday School materials from my sister's church. What a silly scene that must have made. Until the girls outgrew their birthday outfits, we referred to them as "The Bomb Dresses!"
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