There’s been some major excitement in my mailbox over the past few days. No really, my MAILBOX. This is not a euphemism.
Saturday I received my college diploma (Can I get a hell yeah?).
Monday was also pretty eventful. I received a whopping 13 credit card offers. I’m practically rich.
Yesterday’s trip to the mailbox was heart stopping exciting. I opened my front door, stepped into the dark and was startled when two strange men were standing there. Once my heart began beating again I tried to figure out why these men were here.
They were too old to be Mormon missionaries. Ah-hah, they must be my graduation parade!
The University is fired. Two old dudes in pleated khaki pants weren’t what I had in mind. I wanted a float, a jazz band and someone throwing candy at kids. Not to kids, at kids. What? Kids always ruin parades.
Stranger dudes weren’t a two-man parade, nope. They were welcoming me to the neighborhood. You know the neighborhood I moved into MONTHS AGO. I asked which neighboring houses they lived in, but found they lived blocks away. There was something suspicious about this late welcome.
This welcome screamed Mormon, so I nonchalantly asked…
“Are you with the neighborhood watch? Or did the church send you? Are you my home teachers? Where are my baked goods? Who turned me in? Was it my mom? It’s always the mothers. Though it could have been my grandma. Or maybe one of my brothers as a prank. Is this a prank? OH MY GOD, are you really here to sell me a vacuum?”
I was met with a moment of confused silence. My line of bombarding questions usually has that effect on people.
Once composure was regained—theirs not mine…OBVIOUSLY—they confessed to being from the “ward” and were just informed of my neighborhood arrival. I appreciate them making me sound like royalty, but in my world royalty should be awarded with baked goods. They already provided heart damage by scaring me, so they may as well obstruct my arteries with deliciously fatty food.
Is that really too much to ask?
I THINK NOT.