I laughed and screamed~hysterically and sporadically~even went so far as to wildly karate kick and chop the air. Looking back now, I wipe a proud tear.
When I finished my tantrum, I looked down and waving my hands in surrender, walked to my car and drove away, leaving devastated boy in the middle of the street without a friend in the world.
Glinda the Good Witch must have appeared in her pink bubble shortly thereafter to tell the neighbors it was safe to "come out, come out...the wicked witch is DEAD!" (or gone to the store~whichever.) so they came creeping out of their homes to see the ruin. They did what I could not...helped him clean it up without feeling worse about his acuity, potential to be a night manager at a convenience store, and prospects for finding a decent wife because of such supreme OBTUSITY. Not a word? Sure it is. Means dumberness.
So thank heavens for family and friends that bear our burdens. I'll return the favor when I catch you chasing your child through the streets with a butcher knife. Until then, please accept my sincere gratitude...and this here brick that I've covered in fabric for a door stopper. There's lots more where that came from.