I had purchased a talking metronome while I was attending a conference in New York for music teachers. Before my son and I boarded our flight home, I hefted my carry-on bag onto the security-check conveyor belt.

The guards eyes widened as he watched the monitor. He asked what I had in the bag, then slowly pulled out the six-by-three-inch black box covered with dials and switches.

Other travelers, sensing trouble, vacated the area. A metronome, I replied weakly, as my son cringed in embarrassment.

Its a talking metronome, I insisted. Look, Ill show you.

I took the box and flipped a switch, realizing that I had no idea how it worked, One … two … three … four, it said.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

As we gathered our belongings, my son whispered, Arent you glad it didnt go four … three … two … one …?
-from Readers Digest, November 1995

(contributed by Marcia L. Caldwell)