Some DICK CLOWN plowed over my mailbox leaving what could only be described as a flat Earther’s answer to receiving mail- a pancake postal receptacle.
No note. No compensatory compensation. Nothing.
Just a splintered, jagged death square sticking up out of the dirt waiting to assassinate the poor postlady and her sweet white Jeep.
And next to it, the deceased remains of a once lively and insect-resistant letter box.
My replacement mailbox (this time with an aluminum stand included) was delivered this week. I decided that since I was giving the entire Craft Cottage estate a face lift, I would paint my new mailbox to match.
So I gave it a white spray paint bath, let it dry in the sun and used my Cricut (Translation: the most joy ever brought to a crafter) to cut out the vinyl words and even add a dainty swirly design.
It came out delightful and I am most pleased.
Here’s where the danger comes in.
In order to get this baby up and functional, I have to cross the busy highway, objectify my neighbor’s mailbox by measuring its height to make sure mine is similar, dig a hole next to the splintered, jagged death square, pour a little bit of Quikrete and stick that sucker down in there.
My only hope is that Dr. Dick Clown isn’t on his way home with a fistful of Captain Morgan and a can of Whip Its as my ass is facing the road unaware that anyone is aiming for it.
There’s nothing that would piss me off more than to be sideswiped by a douche canoe who couldn’t keep his death machine in between the white and yellow lines.