Outgoing mail

I pass two women who had finished the farmers market and were sitting on a squat parapet the base for iron fence in the shade and looking onto a lovely blank patch of perfect green lawn. I passed through the iron gate closed behind me. I speak to the two young women through the fence.  

"This mailbox says, 'outgoing.'" 

     "And ... " 

"This other mailbox says, 'introspective.'"

     "What does that mean?"

"Shy." 

     "I don't get it."

"One mailbox says outgoing and the other one says shy." 

     "I still don't understand."

"Outgoing mail ... and ... shy mail." 

     "Still don't get it."

"That was a joke." 

     "Oh."

The two women still didn't get it. And I forgot what it was like being that young. 

No I didn't. My young self is still alive and kicking. I was never that thick. I would have been just as flabbergasted back then at age nine.