It’s 6:55 AM on a Saturday morning, the only day I can sleep in and for some reason my mind is hyped like a Jack Russell with a tennis ball. There will be no more sleeping going on. Also, thanks to new memory foam pillows I received for Christmas, I can’t even adequately suffocate myself without someone sitting on the pillow on my face. I wilt out of bed in defeat and claim the day.

The sound of a weak Keurig stream is a strong reprimand that I should have bought a new coffee pot instead of those red stilettos I can’t walk in and will rarely wear.  Sugar? None left, I will have to use five tablespoons confectionery sugar in my coffee and deal with the slimy residue.

My toes begin to tingle, and I can hear the faint rumble of a truck slowing down at the corner stop sign, and suddenly a ray of light is giving my dark cloud the finger. That unmistakable sound is that of the one and only UPS truck and according to my calculations it is heading straight for my house.

I can be anywhere in the house, and I know the sound of that big brown truck as it comes down the block. When it slows down in front of my house, and I hear the squeak of the brakes… my ears perk up like a dog who smells bacon cooking and my heart beats a little bit faster which throws off my I Fit, to signal life alert that either I am being chased or having a heart attack.

 My head tilts, and I run to the door which sheer excitement like its Christmas morning and I’m suddenly in that holiday Lexus commercial with the fake snow and the gigantic, meticulously formed red bow on top.  I might also add that while running, I am singing ” I got a package, I got a package”… to the tune of “La Cucaracha” if anyone cares. Coupled with my extremely short attention span and four children up my ass, I don’t remember ordering anything, so it is a real surprise every time the package is actually for me. What’s in the box is irrelevant, hell it could be anthrax, the best part is knowing that whatever is in that box save me gas and time which equates to pure bliss and an extreme sense of accomplishment.

One day I am on the porch having a relaxing cup of coffee, when a sketchy silver Honda pulls up in front of the house. A man gets out, wearing torn jeans, and a “Weed University” hoodie and he has a package in his arms. Thinking back to the 18 years of Stranger Danger videos I made the kids watch, my first thought is, he may be an intruder… but he does have a package, such a conundrum. He got one step onto my property, and I stand, pump my wonder bra up, and say ” Can I help you?” He said, ” I have a package for you from Amazon.”  I begin the poser grilling.  ” Really, where is your truck? Where is your coordinating, official UPS uniform with matching pen and magic pad?”  He told me there is no truck, he is contracted out, like an Uber for packages. I asked him where should I sign and he told me it was not necessary.  WTF!! that’s half the fun, signing for the package, it sort of seals the deal. Hmmmmm I do not like this, it feels so wrong. I was skeptical … very skeptical and pointed to my sticker in my corner window to let him know our house is part of the “Neighborhood Watch Program.” Actually, it’s an expired AAA sticker.  I took the package, kept a close eye as the Honda drove away but deep down inside it’s just not the same without the Big Brown Truck.

Allison Stewart lives in a very small suburban town with her four children and her inappropriate, politically incorrect, incorrigible father. She works as a Patient Advocate at a Trauma Center by day and spends most evenings juggling sports, family events, fundraisers, broken down vehicles and meltdowns. Allison also makes an attempt at attending the gym several times a month… usually on 20% off smoothie days. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with her guy who still gives her butterflies every time he winks at her.

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