The Wrapper

After church one Sunday morning a few years ago, my wife and I were going to breakfast. My younger sister Theresa (not to be confused with Sister Theresa), her husband Doug and son Drake, were going to breakfast with us at Riverside Restaurant. Father Patrick was to join us shortly.
The waitress brought our menus and six glasses of water with straws. We enjoyed our coffee and conversation while we waited for Father Patrick. Drake looked as if he was bored so I decided to get his attention. Although I seldom use them, I picked up my straw.
Individually wrapped straws are much like grocery sacks - paper, or plastic. I prefer straws that come in paper. If you make a small ball of paper and drop it into the straw, it falls to the tip. Squeeze it just a little and you’ll have a weighted tip, increasing performance and control. It’s far better than plastic. Unfortunately, our straws came in the clear plastic wrapper. Although not my preference, I would have to make-due with what I had.
I removed the end of the covering just enough to get my lips on the straw. Drake was still looking down at the menu lying on the table in front of him. I pretended not to see my wife’s stern look that said, “Don’t do it.”  I carefully took aim for the center of Drake’s forehead. I breathed, inhaling deeply. I had to act fast as my wife was already reaching for the straw. I sent a quick rapid blast of air down the hollow tube of the straw. The clear wrapper launched like a rocket; a rocket out of control.
The plastic sleeve shot about 15 inches left of Drakes head and started to lose some altitude. Just then it caught an upward draft caused by the return air vent in the ceiling and turned sharply to the right as it sailed face level directly in front of the man and woman at the table behind Drake. Both the man and woman looked stunned as they watched the projectile pass before them. Unfortunately, the flying wrapper was not yet out of steam.
The wrapper banked further to the right and began its descent. I thought surely it would land on the center of the next table of four - but its flight was cut short when it crashed into the upper arm of one of the ladies sitting there.
Both the man and woman at the first table, and the woman struck at the second table looked toward our table. Soon her husband was also looking. As the struck woman told her horrific story, their guests Chuck and Barbara Bates, people I knew, turned to look as well. I immediately looked down at my menu, so as not to be suspected of the heinous crime. I never should have trusted a plastic wrapper.
My cover was quickly blown when the people at my own table pointed fingers at me and said, "He did it." Drake looked up, totally clueless as to what had transpired. When he was told, he blushed like I had never seen him blush before. It was a blush of guilt and I could have easily laid blame upon him, but it was too late. The posse, including my own beloved wife, had already turned me over to the angry crowd.
The initial shock of the incident wore off quickly, and we all had a good laugh. Right then, Father Patrick walked in to join us. The conversation quickly turned to thoughts of ordering our meals.
After breakfast, Chuck Bates stopped by our table to comment on how my behavior improved substantially - once the priest arrived.
Our breakfast, company, and conversation were good, and I certainly learned a valuable lesson that morning: Whenever going to a restaurant that uses plastic-wrapped straws, one should always sneak in a paper wrapped straw (or two), when planning a straw-rocket attack on his nephew.