Return to Sender

I was daydreaming during my technology workshop today about the most disappointing packages I’ve ever received in the mail. My brain was on overdrive, and I went channel surfing, searching for a little respite. I decided the most disappointing thing I ever received in the mail had to be the ant hill kits I ordered for the kids one Christmas. They came with these cool plastic cages but no ants. (Those had to be ordered separately, but only a few ants survived, and I had to supplement with the garden variety.)  Or maybe it was the gladiator sandals that I thought were so hip in the catalog, until they arrived in size ten, and I looked like a gladiator when I slipped them on my feet. 

But I have to admit the most anxiety provoking packages the mailman ever brought to our door were those ten rectangular boxes filled with mother-of-the-bride dresses from Nordstrom’s. You see I hate shopping for clothes (I like antique shopping because the size of my ass does not matter) and I had to find a dress for my daughter’s wedding.  It was unnerving.  I was panicked until those much anticipated boxes arrived and I stacked the possibilities neatly against the tub in my bathroom. I didn’t want to open the boxes.  I have my reasons. Those ten packages were left unattended for an entire week, and like The Bachelorette, I was sure one of them would be right for me.  That was a nice little fantasy until my husband came roaring into my little oasis and demanded an explanation for the exorbitant charges lingering on the visa.  Doesn’t he understand the importance of this one damn dress and the pressure I’m under to get it right? I’m pretty sure the outcome of the entire wedding depends on this particular decision. I mean really, all he had to do was go down to the tuxedo shop, get measured, and place his order.  It even included the shoes!  I try to explain my dilemma, but he just looked at me like I was crazy, and then he started talking to me in this calm, soothing voice.  Look, I’m not a mental patient, I’m the mother-of-the-bride! Do you not get it?

He demanded I return every unwanted garment to the store by the next day or else…or else what? The bank already shut down our credit card (Larry spent an entire week trying to straighten out our auto payments) and when PG & E slapped us with a late fee I offered to make a call. I do what I can. He said I’ve done enough! So I opened Pandora’s Box, one at a time, in the privacy of my bathroom. You have never seen a bigger pile of silk, lace, and taffeta, but there it was, in the midst of all my fears. The perfect dress! 

That’s when I felt the instructors hand land on my shoulder from the tech workshop.  She asked me what I was working on?  I try not to lie, “Blogging,” I say.

What undesirable packages has the mailman delivered to your door? Do share…

If you enjoyed this posting you might also enjoy:  50 Shades of Ordinary

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