I seem to have offended my UPS deliveryman in some way. Maybe I order too many heavy things, like the sixty-pound carton of cat litter that was braced against my storm door last week, blocking the exit of a seventy-something retired professor with an artificial hip. Or the case of protein bars cleverly positioned so that the door opened five inches before hitting resistance, nearly throwing me back on my butt from the force of my own inertia.
My late and ex used to say one misfortune is just a misfortune; two are a coincidence; three makes a habit.
Today I was saying bye-bye to a runner who is coming back from a bout of Guillain-Barre, which is a form of temporary paralysis. He was dismayed to think for a minute that he was weaker than he had been in days but in fact the problem involved two five-foot-round rugs propped directly against the storm door — not, to mention a couple of options, the house wall or the railing — like the brace of a lean-to.
Back in the day you could get, for about five minutes, a version of the anatomically correct gay Billy Doll dressed in a credible brown UPS uniform. UPS hollered bloody murder (I think it was the “deliveries in the rear” copy in the ads that got them) and made the manufacturer withdraw it on pain of a lawsuit. Gay or not, this vindictive bastard (when I see the truck stopped elsewhere on my block, it’s a guy who gets out) is really making me want the proscribed Billy, because Billy sports a full package