Disheveled dad

I just went out to drop a letter in the postbox. I was walking along, an envelope blanketed in stamps in hand, pondering how difficult it is to determine how much postage to put on a letter. Suddenly I heard a girl burst out laughing. I gathered my wits, and searched about for a potential source of laughter, before discovering the guffawing girl standing about ten feet in front of me. She was talking into her iPhone microphone about something intensely funny and looking at me. I strutted past her. She continued laughing. My primal masculine instinct told me to look down and I did. It became apparent that the source of laughter was none other than my gaping fly. Wide open. Even framed by my untucked semi-unbuttoned shirt front. I zipped it up and did a quick look around. I calculated how many other people I had walked by on my way to the damn postbox. Four. All evidently stoic about open flies. As the kindly gal could still be heard laughing, I turned around. She was almost buckled over with laughter. This was too much. She turned to face me and plucked out an earphone. I thought about thanking her, but opted instead to just stare, fly zipped.

"Do I know you?" She called out.

"What? I thought you were laughing at my open fly." I awkwardly said, squinting for some reason.

"No. I think I know you."

"I don't think so." I replied. "Although some people say I look like Denzel Washington."

Her earphone went back in her ear and she walked away. At least she had stopped laughing.

I'm a bit disheveled these days. It's probably best that I go back to work soon.