Dear Diary …
I give up. I can’t do it anymore. Your relentless onslaught has finally gotten to me and I am ready to surrender after your years of attacks.
I quit … Mail.
You win. I’ve lost the battle. I cannot keep up with my mail anymore.
Last week I come home from work … go to wash my hands at the kitchen sink …. [[[spppssshhht]]] … Nothin’ comes out but some gurgling air.
Hmmmm … that’s interesting. I guess they must be doing some work in my neighborhood.
But I have no note on my door and there’s no announcements on the website. Hmmm … let me call just to make sure.
Well guess what? Some idiot hadn’t paid his water bill in three months.
“Oh that’s preposterous! I would’ve seen your notices in the mail! Let me just check my fi… Oh … there it is … big red envelope and everything.”
“So … uhhhh … how do you go about turning the water back on please, sir?”
I surrender. No more. Stop sending me mail. I don’t want it. I can't handle it.
You need me to pay a bill? Just text me.
Even better … just slide that bill in between a bunch of pictures of food from cooking magazines. I’ll definitely see it there.
Hey … I get up at 3:30 every morning … do this show … raise two kids … be a good husband to my wife … take care of two dogs … cook meals every night. I’m tapped. Something’s gotta give.
Oh I need people. You know, people make fun of things like “Oh that diva Mariah Carey pays someone just to open her mail.”
Oh yeah ... Well how much are they getting paid? Cuz I’m hiring!!!
Hey … nobody’s perfect. And yet we all try to be … we need to just accept that we can’t possibly do it all.
So I’m left with a choice … be a good husband and be good at opening mail. And since I’m pretty sure “Babe … We’re gonna have to go get a divorce so I can make sure I stay up on my correspondence” ... that ain’t gonna fly with my wife, me and mail are breaking up. Duct tape the mailbox shut. It’s over!
You need me? Just slide into my DMs and I’ll catch ya there.
Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye