Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not claim to be a rocket scientist. Though she DOES know someone who shook hands with Wernher von Braun.
I know why the federal budget always has its hands outstretched, gruel bowl proffered, begging, "Please, sir. I want some more." The federal budget is not nearly as cute as Mark Lester in his heyday, cavorting about 19th century London with Jack Wild, pickin' a pocket or two for Ron Moody. And the federal budget is not nearly so efficient in relieving citizens of their possessions.
Today, our green metal pipe mailbox, EmBee, disgorged a pile of catalogs, a DISH Network bill, a Victoria's Secret catalog for a woman at another address, and a large advertisement for children's toys for a man at a totally different address. One box. Three addresses. Signs point to an inefficient, incompetent, or disgruntled employee of Uncle Sam.
Because Mrs. Hillbilly Mom knows that it is a federal offense to tamper with the mail or mailbox of another, she does what any law-abiding citizen should do, and returns these items not meant for her to the dead-mouse-smelling post office. But because the M.O. P. O. (Mouse Odor Post Office) is not open during hours when Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is available, she drops the mail addressed to others back into the mailbox outside the M.O. P.O. So it can be rerouted to its proper intended destination. To be hauled back to the processing center for scanning. Back to the hub. Back to the M.O. P.O. to be driven on the route again, right back to the mailboxes in the same wooden enclosure as EmBee, perchance to be shoved into the correct slot this time.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Some calls her a passive-aggressive battleaxe. I calls her a law-abiding citizen. Mmm hmm.
3 comments:
I am aghast. I NEVER do anything that even has the whiff of being passive aggressive.
I guess we are not as "akin" to each other as I once thought...
I am interested in toiling until they haul me in and out of my classroom---Hannibal Lecter style--using a dolly. You are looking forward to retirement in less than two years.
I let deadlines slide past me for a ghost anthology. You jump on that publishing possibility like Juno on a chicken...AND get accepted.
If I had a book signing, I would be shouting it out from a rooftop. You make your stalkers advance from one security level to another, until they have enough "clearance" to be invited.
Oh, HM...I hardly know ye...
If the postal carrier is really disgruntled, you may find this same mail in your box again! Hopefully, not with a dead mouse or something worse.
Sioux,
So sorry to stomp on your perceptions with my clay feet. Technically, my retirement is in less that THREE years. Perhaps you should unstrap yourself from the dolly, remove the face guard, and treat your captive audience to a lesson on fractions.
I'll have you know, Madam, that Juno and I are not jumpers. We wait our turn, all ladylike and such, until an offer is proffered to us. As far as my haunting tale, I have sent back a signed contract, but heard nothing more. Surely my output is not so printing-press ready that no edit is needed.
As Even Steven rules...I let a dating deadline slide past me. I suppose a ghost in the hand is worth two dates in the bush.
My security team will eventually clear the list of book signing attendees. At this point, there are no books to sign, save my two personal copies. Perhaps my shipment was lost in the mail. Or went up in smoke at the local UPS fire last week. Or the orange notice card was put in somebody else's mailbox.
Maybe those thieves with really clear skin that nabbed The Pony's Clearasil shipment also got this one.
*****
knancy,
I think maybe he's bipolar. Some days he hands over the mail with a smile when we stalk him to get a package a day early. Other days, he snarls that he ain't got no stinkin' package.
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