Of all the Nerve!

“The check is in the mail.” We all know this one. Only this time it was someone else’s excuse to me instead of the other way around as it usually is. Everyday my finely tuned ear listened for the rumble of the mail truck which usually comes around 11:30 or so. I didn’t want to appear to anxious so I would wait for the clang of the mailbox before going outside only to be disappointed once more.

And then, this morning while sitting at my desk, I heard the usual approach of the mail truck but instead of the squeal of brakes in front of my house and the slam of the mailbox lid, I heard him pass on by to my neighbor Lucas’ house. What the hell? I always get something. For fifteen years in the same house, I always get something. Always bills. But always something.

On my way to investigate my empty mailbox, I pass my daughter’s room and hear the giggles that are only heard when her boyfriend is over. And then I tripped over his ugly-ass boots on my way out the door. I guess he thinks it polite to walk around in stinky socks when you are over at someone’s house. Better than messing up the carpet I guess. He’s always polite when around me. But I ain’t no fool.

And then I saw that had parked his motorcycle in front of my mailbox thus pissing off Barry, my mailman, who doesn’t like to get out of his truck on a hot Florida day. Mystery solved.

I didn’t really care to see boyfriend’s face at that moment so I waited until he came out to make himself a fresh Coke and explained to him that it was no big deal because I probably only missed a bunch of bills but it was possible I may have missed a check because his oily-assed motorcycle was blocking my mailbox.

Oh, shit! Did I do that? Sorry, dude! My bad!

Damn right, your bad. Dude? Dude Who? That makes two bads. That’s Mr. Dude to you, boy.

So he takes a big swig of fresh Coke and puts on his boots (without lacing them up) and heads out the door to correct his parking faux pas.

I’m a smoker but I don’t (she won’t let me) smoke in the house, so a few times a day I go out into the front yard and fire one up. I use these seven minutes of smoking time to trim off dead rose petals and pull up any weeds that would dare show green in my front yard. I’m extremely proud of my grass this year. It’s my only piece of green on this planet and I’ve got it looking good. I wouldn’t even flick an ash on it.

I’m sitting at my computer and suddenly I come across a problem I have to think about and as always I get the nicotine urge. Somehow a Kool Filter King seems to help me think. I lit up on my front patio and looked up to see a big old rusted-out two-wheeled piece of crap parked on my lawn dripping nasty black BP oil into a pool in the middle of my patch of Saint Augustine.

This is not an LOL situation… -submitted by Howie Doohan, Kissimmee, FL