Mail or Female?

Mail or Female?

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My wife just turned into a mail.

In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s turning right.

But I better set the table for you. Since she can’t.

As recounted in my book, you may remember the time I took out six mailboxes in one drive by. I spent the entire afternoon replacing all six. Here they are 20 years later. Several have been replaced again since then.

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Our box is second from the left. It’s worn out. The lid is operating on just one hinge and is quite a challenge for Michele and our mail female to open and close. I told Michele to order another one.

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That’s how she ended up in the mailbox. I decided to try to teach her a lesson. Whenever she buys from Amazon, she buys the biggest item available.

I walked in the other day and saw this huge box on the table. I asked what was in the box and she said it must be mine. I opened it and informed her that it was the mailbox she ordered. She vehemently argued with me until I pulled it out and showed her.

Just the day before she ordered a pencil from Amazon. You can see it behind her in the corner.

The girl is always telling me I’m a pack  rat and I need to minimize. I tell her she needs to come to terms with her inferiority complex and quit trying to impress people with her big things.

I will never send her car shopping by herself again. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll come home from work and find an Abrams tank or a Freightliner in the driveway.

I’m also afraid Michele’s inferiority complex is going to spread to all our neighbors when I put up that monster of a male box. I’m not sure Karen, our mail lady, is going to be able to open it without assistance.

So the other night Michele and I dropped in for a bite to eat after spending the afternoon and evening in the temple. We had seen some old friends, Karl and Kathi, also at the temple earlier. They were already seated but I asked the girl if we could have a table for four. She took us to the table and then I walked over and grabbed K&K and dragged them over.

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We had a nice dinner. And then Karl, totally out of character, pulled out a credit card and tried to pay for everyone. He acted like he didn’t know how to use the card so that I would jump in and say “Here, let me pay.”

Kathi kept saying “You usually never have trouble doing that, Karl.”

I just sat back and watched him supposedly struggle with the card reader for 10 or 15 minutes without saying a word. Finally, he got the job done.

Finally, I was able to say “Thanks, Karl.”

I really meant it. And I was so glad I asked for a table for four.

 

 

 

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