My suspicions have been confirmed. The Post Office officially hates my guts. About 6,000 years ago a dear boy named Brad had a birthday. I said "let me send you some goodies". Then came the delays... oh, the delays!... and then I FINALLY sent out a package. Complete with an armada of pirate toys and lollipops. But alas, the Post Office has sunk my battleship. They have sabotaged my Tuppermail and instead delivered this to dear Brad.
Yes, that's right. They delivered him the lid. Isn't that like a double insult? Triple, even? Somewhere out there is a slimeball Postal Worker, waiting for my next package.... waiting to slice through the box tape, take out the hand written note, unwrap the cherry lollipops and chocolate candies and EAT them while playing pirate war with the toys? It makes me sick. To the postal workers of California, my stinky feet go out to you. Watch out, because when you least expect it, you're gonna get a stinky shoe from Mia. I'll wear the old ones in the back of the closet... those really cruddy ones that I can't bear to throw away for some reason... I'll wear them all day without socks... maybe even TWO days! Go for a walk. Take a jog in the park. Run a marathon. Step in dog doo? Who knows? Then I'll slap adequate postage on it and shove it in the mailbox. Take THAT!
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