going postal
the post office has apparently moved operations to my desk. As evidenced by the lot of boxes I’ve received. These packages are not exactly for me, you see. They are for the managing imperfector.
In three days the count is 17 boxes and 9 envelopes. Why does that piss me off? Well, for starters, NONE of them are work related. They are all orders from Amazon and Ebay…oh yes, and the ones addressed to his wife from Dr. Natura. You want detox? Dump that useless lunatic adornment you call a husband. Â
Second, do I look like the average dull, socially challenged, shorts-wearing postal worker to you?!
In any case, one of the envelopes came from his mommy in Idaho, the state with the dubious tuber distinction. The greasy stains on the outside betrayed the contents as edible goodies. And a gentle squeeze indicated that these were most likely plump semitic cookies. Couldn’t contain myself and I went postal.
Oh, how I delected during the 10 seconds it took me to squoosh the contents with my new boots. Unrated pleasure like this should come with a warning notice.Â
Of course, right after I did this, I started feeling pangs of guilt. So I surreptitiously also put a plastic spoon in his inbox. See? I’m not that bad.
