Wherein I am the Author of My Own Disappointment
Posted by Moose on May 19th, 2006. Filed under: My Brain Needs a Drink.I walked through the door on Wednesday afternoon and was met by a wagging tail – complete with wagging butt – and the stack of mail that lives in the entryway. Most of the mail is not for me. It’s junk mail, or addressed to occupants who vacated six years ago. It’s entirely possible that the dog gets more mail than I do. She always seems to have a mysterious supply of new toys and fresh rawhide bones. Suspicious. Whereas I have to subscribe to The New Yorker just to be sure of getting something with my name on it every week. On top of the bills and exciting correspondence for other people, I saw a notice. For me. With my two favorite words: Package Waiting. I clapped my hands in glee. Yes, I clapped my hands. With glee. I may have done a little hop in the air. I need more hobbies.
The post office was closed so I spent the evening and next day wondering what was waiting for me. I hadn’t ordered anything in recent memory. No shoes, no amazon, no mail order brides. Did someone send me something? What could it be? Is it a gift? My birthday’s not for two months. Did I order something I forgot about? No. Nothing in weeks. Oh boy, a surprise!
My regression back to the days when I still believed in Santa, the tooth fairy, and packages that come for no reason continued until I stopped by the post office on my way home from work. I handed the notice over the counter and waited with trepidation. Will it be big? I still have to carry it seven blocks. But big is good. I like big.
It wasn’t big. It wasn’t a present. It wasn’t even a package. It was the prescription I had ordered weeks ago and forgotten about. Which means there’s only one thing to do – pay a visit to amazon.com and use my credit card to convince them to send me a little package.
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