So look. I am not a fan of April Fool's Day. Not. at. all. I hate jokes. I don't think they're funny. At. all. I do not enjoy listening to jokes, and I certainly do not tell jokes. I just really don't know who in the world comes up with all this stuff. It ranks right up there with pinching someone on March 17 because they aren't wearing green. I would always end up being the one pinched because I would forget to wear green. And, of course, because I have such a low tolerance for pain, I'd quickly proclaim that I was wearing green underwear. When, in fact, I was not. I know. I'm such a Debbie Downer, a spoiled sport, a stick in the mud, no fun at all.
So when I went outside this morning to put Mason and Hannah Kate on the bus, the first thing I noticed was that my mailbox was gone. Again. This is the SECOND TIME in the less than four years that we've been living in this house that someone has hit and destroyed our mailbox. This time wasn't as bad. The post is still standing. Last time, the guy snapped even the post in half. Although he didn't stop to fess up (even though he knows who we are), it wasn't long before we knew who he was because it did a significant amount of damage to his truck. Amongst other things, it busted his windshield, and he had to get a new one. He drove around for several days with that blue tape around the new windshield. Since he had to pay to have his vehicle repaired, we didn't say anything and just let it go. We bought a new post, a bag of concrete, a new mailbox and that was it.
But this time? I'm thinking not so much. Because something doesn't add up about this. It was easy to figure out what happened last time. But because of where I eventually found the mailbox and its pieces and, more importantly, what I didn't find, we aren't really sure what happened. But it doesn't matter. Because we're going to put up a new mailbox. Again. And this time, I'm going to brick around the entire thing. My dad did that when I was a kid. Someone kept hitting and damaging our mailbox with a bat. So he got tired of it and bricked around the whole thing. Then they shot at the door with a shotgun. Or, at least, I think that's what I remember. Yes, I know how that sounds. Red. Neck. It's possible that I'm making this story up, but I really don't think I am. To the best of my memory, I think that's what really happened. My parents really do have a brick mailbox!
Anyway. I don't know. For some reason, I feel like I'm in some sort of April Fool's Day joke. And I promise you I am not laughing.
Really? I guess you were either distracted or impaired. Or both. Or maybe neither. I really would've appreciated that you let me know what happened. Because I really am a nice person. But I understand why you did not come and tell me that you accidentally (or maybe not) destroyed my mailbox. Did you know that destruction of a mailbox is a federal offense (Title Code 18, Section 1705)? Yes, I didn't think so. Mailboxes are considered federal property. Did you know that you can be fined up to $250,000 or imprisoned for up to three years? That's food for though, isn't it? You know, common courtesy would've been to pick up the mail that went flying everywhere along the side of the road and in the ditch and just put it back in the box for me. But you did not do even that. I can honestly tell you that I hope your vehicle wasn't too badly damaged in the "accident." But something tells me it wasn't. I'll make you a deal. We can drop this whole thing and pretend like it never happened. I won't even ask you to pay for a new mailbox for me. I just want you to tell me the truth. And it wouldn't hurt if you would come help me brick around the new mailbox!
Sincerely,
Julie B.