In all the apartments and houses that I've lived in since graduating college (6, in case you were wondering), my mailman has hated me.
At one point in my life, I subscribed to 12 – TWELVE – magazines. Twelve heavy publications that had to be stuffed into a mail slot each month, trudged across the Boston Common, delivered during rain and snow storms.
Then, this little thing called the internet was invented, and really took off. And with it, came online shopping!
When you have boxes being delivered by large UPS and FedEx trucks, and you live on one of the most narrow streets in Southie (one that's barely on the map, and traffic isn't supposed to drive down it), you hear all sorts of colorful language, tinged with a thick Boston accent.
And then one day, Amazon was born. And following that, Amazon Prime.
If the mail/postal/delivery people didn't like me before, they certainly don't like me now.
Last year when we were renovating our family room, our contractor said to my husband, "Your wife sure gets a lot of packages delivered." Um, thanks buddy. Way to out me.
It's just so simple. Shop. Add it to your cart. Hit "purchase" (and your credit card info is saved! so easy!). And then two days later...POOF. Packages.
You've heard the phrase "Don't drink and Prime?" Well, I'd like to suggest: "Don't Prime on Meds" as a close second to that.
Today, I'm home sick. And it's Cyber Monday. And I'm armed with prescriptions.
In between naps, I MAY have done some
damage Christmas shopping.
So my point is, I blame the person who invented the internet, and then Amazon Prime, for any troubles the UPS delivery man has two days from now.
(And for the record: I'm down to only 5 magazine subscriptions right now. Not bad.)