Actually, I don't get the mail I want. All I want are my darned magazines. Is that too much to ask?
Everyday, when I get home, I leave and lock my car. I begin the long walk from my car to my mailbox. As I approach the entrance of my building, my breathe catches in my throat and my heart races in anticipation of finding my beloved Entertainment Weekly/Advocate/Real Simple in my mailbox.
I walk to my mailbox. I put my key in the lock. I open it and there, after six months of torture, sits an empty mailbox space.
I can jog all the way to Texas and back, but my mail can't! I wanna know Whhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?????????????? (Steel Magnolias...remixed) I don't think I can take this! I just want to *hit* somebody to make them feel as badly as I do!
Why are the mail gods so cruel?
4 comments:
That sucks.
I guess you'll just have to get yourself to the supermarket to get your magazines.
(half-embarrassed by the illicit copy of Vanity Fair in your hand, the one with the naked Mmes. Johanson and Knightly and the lovely Mr. Ford looking at you seductively from the cover...only to find yourself being checked out by yet another former student)
Or something like that.
I know. Just my luck. :-)
Half of Chiquapin parish'd give their eyeteeth to take a whack 'a Weeza!!!
I'll believe that Magazines in May business when I see it. :-/
A "Steel Magnolias" kindred spirit! Yayyyyyy!
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