Dear Diary:
I know I’ve made some bad choices in my lifetime. I also know I have not always been a perfect daughter, sister, mother or wife. I totally believe in the Garma theory (God/Karma) and dear Lord it appears that payback is upon me—in the form of a big brown truck.
As I write this the heavens have opened up the snow globe. The weather guys are practically giddy with their prediction of lake effect snow accumulations, and normally I would be too.
HOWEVER, due to my poor choice of short term employment my sense of humor appears to be waning. The mental image of myself schlepping through feet of snow with your kid’s Xbox is haunting.
Okay, it might be a little bit funny. But only because it’s 6 a.m. versus 6 p.m. when I’ll no doubt be making snow angels with a package on my face.
Now Diary, I know this sounds like it must be physically impossible, but I am completely convinced that Big Brown has the power to make packages reproduce. It’s true. The big ones make little ones as soon as my back is turned…it’s insane.
I’m reminded constantly of Mary Poppins’ magic bag. You know the one—no matter how deep she digs there’s still stuff coming out.
That, my friends, is what happens on a daily basis…probably during one of the ten thousand power slides I am forced to endure.
How many times per day should a gal be forced to shout, “MY SIDE!!??” I don’t think I can count that high and I’m guessing neither can any of you.
As for Driver Jim? Well, he’s kind of a saint. Yes, the more I think about it, he shall be dubbed Saint Jim, SJ for short. Even though he stole the thunder of my birthday by informing me that there’s no such thing as Mother Mary Assumption Day, and, I quote, “No, Jan. She didn’t rise, she doesn’t glow and that did not happen on the day of your birth,” he’s still okay in my book.
But you and I Diary, both know that I had to go to church on my birthday for years. Hmmph. That should count for something, right God?
Maybe you could slow down the snow machine for another week and a half when I happily turn in my brownie uniform and revert back to a simple wave at Big Brown as he skids on by.
Thanks to the good folks that shovel a nice little path for us. It makes me smile when the guesswork of what I’m climbing over, is eliminated.
And truly, everyone is so darn pleasant that it’s hard to be crabby—even when being chased by a pack of Rotweillers.
“Now don’t make a sound at this house,” says SJ. So we tiptoe, whisper…then run like hell back to Big Brown.
I will never, EVER, tell a delivery person, “Not to worry, he doesn’t bite!” Cuz guess what? Dogs are not color blind and it would appear that many are not all warm and fuzzy with the brown.
Well, the gloves are coming off today for sure. SJ and I have crossed the line into namecalling and I’m guessing this last week and a half should prove to be the true test.
Hopefully no blood will spill, being Christmas and all.
Really, I’m fine until the sun goes down because as we all know, a day without sunshine is like…night. And for all you science freaks out there, I’ve made an amazing discovery. I now know the speed of dark—and it trumps the speed of light by a bazillion.
Wish me luck Dear Diary. Hopefully we’ll stay safe and sound and I can let go of the anger-brewing towards cyber shoppers. SJ has a family to support and you guys enable the wheels on Big Brown to keep on spinning. Oh, I meant turning.