and the victory was mine

i stepped out of the car. stood facing the mailbox. cracked my knuckles. then my neck.

a solitary tumbleweed blew across the ground as i took off my sunglasses and threw a cold, icy glare at mailbox number 806. you are mine.

after a little twist of the key, the box opened...and the package growled at me. the package that previously slapped me in the face and would not budge as i tried to yank it out of the mailbox.

curse the mailman.

swear he set up a camera somewhere just to watch me fail at taking the package out. sadistic i know.

first i had to cover my bases. so i called lana and asked permission to beat the box into a pulp as i tried to take it out. of course i took out its contents first.

and you know what was in it?

a small shirt. a frickin shirt. that could have been put in a baggy or something! not the box it merrily came in!!!!

i placed the shirt gently on top of a magazine on the ground then turned back to the damn box. i roared and gave a ferocious tug.

no use.

i pulled and pulled and pulled to no avail.

so then i gave it a hai-ya! and bent the front part.

progress.

i wrestled the box half way out but the end put up quite a fight. i was frustrated, exhausted, and people were staring.

and then i gave it a tug to end all tugs.

the box fell to the concrete, battered and torn. i lifted my foot and gave it a firm and swift stomp.

"nothin to see here folks," i assured the confused bystanders as i gathered the remaining mail and walked away.

yup...just another day in the life of irene nicole vc mortera. try to pretend you're not jealous.