The Objectionable Digit

JUNK MAIL KILLS!

Okay. Maybe that's a bit of hyperbole from Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. But junk mail maims drives one to drink causes hair loss makes an appendage fall off annoys her a little bit.

I have been getting two magazines I never ordered. I'm sure the kind folks at Publishers Clearing House sent them along complimentarily so I might fall for their sweepstakes scam. Or else one of my EthnicElderlyDating paramours is trying to tempt me into his internet arms by mail-showering me with gifts.

These free magazines are a pain. I don't want to wrestle them out of EmBee's curvy embrace. They are quite substantial. Hefty, even. And glossy. And one contains those perfume card inserts. Let the record show that Mrs. HM is the last person on Earth who would need such magazines. One is "W" whatever that stands for. The other is some kind of fashionista garbage. Not the least bit interesting to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom in her red Crocs, black crew socks, navy blue sweatpants, purple-and-white pin-striped big shirt, and generic royal-blue-and-white trucker cap, headed out to the driveway for her walk.

So...in my infinite wisdom, I decided that enough was too much! I'd set the record straight with these magazine companies once and for all. Tell them I never ordered their product, and to get me off the mailing list. Stop wasting trees and gas and petroleum products to make the clear plastic wrapper that seals the magazine.

I tried to rip open that clear plastic wrapper to get out the oversize postcard thingy inside with my address and code numbers. Oh, I ripped open that plastic just fine. But in trying to grasp the oversize postcard thingy with my address on it, I suffered a PAPER CUT!

Sure. It doesn't look like much. It's just a superficial wound. Not a complete amputation. But my finger was none too happy with the situation. After bleeding just enough to not need a sterile adhesive strip, but too much to go on about my business, leaving smears of my life fluid across kitchen and office items...my finger made it clear that there were activities to which it objected:

Washing dishes.
Slicing jumbo hot dogs for Jack and Juno's evening snack.
Clicking a Logitech mouse.
Typing on a keyboard.
Picking a nostril no of course Mrs. HM does not do that
Twisting the plastic lid off a plastic bottle of Diet Coke.
Opening the door of the basement mini fridge.
Writing with PaperMate Profile Elite.
Pushing the HEAT and MASSAGE buttons on the remote of the OPC (Old People Chair)
Peeling open the foil of a Dove dark chocolate morsel.
Pulling open the sealed top of an individual bag of Crunch Cheetos.
Prying the plastic lid off a quart (former hot & sour soup) container of potato salad

Yeah. You wouldn't think such a tiny wound would limit so many activities.

JUNK MAIL KILLS the insouciance with which one sails through many everyday functions.