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Normal Wyoming People

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My whole childhood was spent in a small out-of-the way town in Wyoming. As a kid, I noticed things that most people wouldn’t. One of the things I remember from my early life was my neighbors. Across the street from our house, there were the Wigglesworth’s. They were an older couple, and had no children of their own, but they loved ‘adopting’ the other children in the village. I remember the Wigglesworth’s trying to adopt me, when I was too young to know about the so-called white lies. Yeah, that’s another thing, I never could figure out how a lie could be white but not green. Anyways, I remember looking the kind old man in the face and saying “No way, your like two-hundred and five thousand!” The neighbors to the left of our house were a grumpy couple with a single kid, the most stuck up, bratty, annoying girl that ever walked the earth. To the right lived the Smiths. They were regarded as the most typical, normal family by the whole village. The mother was young and beautiful, the father was tall and handsome, and they had three perfect kids. But I knew the truth. They were more cracked than the lot of us. Their normal outer appearance fooled everyone but me. Their secret? The mother washed her umbrella. Pretty scary, don’t you think? I saw her one night, in the backyard. I was out weeding the garden, I had neglected to do so earlier, and so father made me go out and weed, even though it was past dark. Well, there I was, weeding away, when I see something move over in their yard. Thinking it was another robber, like the one what tried to steal our sheep last summer, I went over to investigate and maybe warn them. When I saw that it was only Mrs. Smith, I almost turned back. Then I noticed the umbrella she was carrying. It was an expensive, metallic pink umbrella with intricate embroidery around the edges. It wasn’t even raining, so this in itself was a little odd. Then, from out of nowhere, she drew a bucket of sudsy water and a sponge. Before I knew it, she had dipped the umbrella into the water and was scrubbing away at it with her sponge. Trying not to scream, I raced back to the house, forgetting the garden. I never told anyone, my family went on believing that the Smiths were a typical family, perfect marriage, perfect kids, and perfect house. But I knew better. I still know better. Never, never, never, trust normal people. They wash their umbrellas.





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