Checking the mail is always an adventure when you live in an apartment complex. Are you going to get the neighbors' mail? Is the last resident of your unit still getting mail at your place? And judging by the aforementioned forgotten mail, just exactly what kinds of freaky shit are they into, anyway? It's also entertaining when your postal worker
clearly has no interest in walking all the way to the leasing office with something because, yeah, it's a little too big to fit in that teeny wittle mailbox and, meh, I'm here so let the crammin' commence! The best example of this came day before yesterday. I innocently turned my key and opened our mailbox, expecting to find the usual: coupon booklets, circulars, a few bills, and maybe a catalog or two. What I was not expecting, however, was the ginormous, placemat-sized beast from Emporio Armani. I have no doubt that, in the time it took her to fold that s.o.b up into fourths and make it fit, she could have gone to the leasing office and back several times
and coordinated all the photo shoots to make her own damn catalog. Lest you think I'm exaggerating about the size of The Beast, I took pictures of it with various stuff around my apartment:
Doesn't seem so bad, right? Wrong. So very, very wrong....
"Oh noes, Mommy! The giant lady is gonna eats meeeee!"
Next it moved on to our kegerator and drained an entire keg in 15.2 seconds. Then it began sobbing and asking if I thought it was pretty. Things got rather uncomfortable.
Then it spied one of my last boxes of Girl Scout Cookies. As it attacked them, we got into a heated argument about the name of said cookies (I'm sorry, but once a Samoa, always a Samoa. So there.)The last time I saw it, it was stumbling into the guest room covered in a thin film of Samoa crumbs. I haven't had the courage to go in there. Please send help.
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