You stole a package the mailman left on my front stoop this afternoon. He’d hid it behind a post, so you would have had to opened the front gate to my yard in order to climb my porch steps and steal this box that was addressed specifically to me.
I know the box was there because the mailman knocked hard on my door when he delivered it, but I was so tired I didn’t bring the box back inside. I left it there because I never thought anyone would have the nerve to come onto my property, much less steal my mail!
Do you have any idea how tired I’ve been lately? Well, you probably know by now. Given the fact that the package contained children’s clothing, more specifically used-clothes sized 2T (TODDLER). I doubt the clothes fit you, and I doubt you have any use for them.
I’m tired because my kid constantly runs around sticking his fingers in electrical sockets, even though I explain to him it’s dangerous. I’m tired because he kicks at his crib bars all night. I’m also broke. My friend sent me her kid’s old clothes so I wouldn’t have to buy NEW clothes for the little monster who runs around my home breaking everything he can get his hands on. My friend’s kid is just four months older than my kid. I ask you to think of the all trouble SHE had to go to in order to mail that box of used clothes! HER kid was no doubt running around HER house, destroying everything he could get his hands on . . . can you imagine how hard it was for my friend to finally take that box (the one you stole off my front porch) to the post office, all the while HER kid was destroying everything he could get his hands on?
I hope you know that when you die and meet our Heavenly Father, and you say, “Gee, I’m so sorry for every bad thing I’ve ever done,” HE is going to pull that box from out a cloud sitting beside him, open it up, and admire all the tiny shirts and pants and pajamas. And then he’s going to fold them up very carefully, with a very stern look on his face. And then he’s going to turn to look at you with a fearsome expression, and HE will say, “Why, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t admit you to Heaven. A child suffered because of you. Her mother, who was a mother in need, suffered because of you. And YOU are the reason I am so ashamed of my children.
And it’s then that the elevator doors to Hell will open to receive you. I assure you its descent will be swift.
But were you also to tired to then file a complaint with the postal carrier? But yet not to tired to post a useless message on Craigslist. Hmm? Lady, next time, just answer the freakin door!