I’m stalking the UPS delivery truck, and apparently not afraid to admit it.
When I couldn’t find footed pajamas that I liked, I broke down and ordered an electric blanket from Amazon. You can judge me all you want, but I won’t hear you through all the warmth and happiness.
Saturday I saw the UPS truck delivering a package next door. I ran to the truck and asked the somewhat bewildered driver why he skipped my house.
“Oh my god, do you hate me? Do you not want me to be warm at night? How could you just leave me in the cold to die?”
He just stared at me.
“Seriously this isn’t a game! There’s a life at stake… my life.”
Still, he stared at me like I had horns. Devil horns.
“I hope you can live with yourself when I die!”
Sometimes verbal diarrhea gets the better of me. Not to mention I’m a tad over-dramatic.
He went from bewildered to being annoyed, but could tell I wasn’t leaving until I had my answer. He checked, but nothing for me.
Monday I saw the same driver delivering to a different neighbor. I chased him down begging for my fuzzy pink blanket. Again he had nothing.
When I got home last night I saw him at the end of my street. I rushed to his truck. Before I had a chance to utter a work he looked at me and asked, “Amazon?”
“YES! How did you know?”
“They use The United States Postal Service. Now please, I need to get back to delivering packages for OUR customers.”
A man in brown shamed me. The least he could have done was wear pink sparkles to let me down easy.