An Open Letter to my Neighbors
I know some of you are thinking that I sure have a bunch of people coming and going at all hours of the day and night and I understand your concern. But I promise I am not dealing drugs.
You see, all of those people that you see coming and going are people from Fed-Ex, UPS, the US Postal Service, Fred's Shipping Service, and ACME Package Delivery, among others. These poor people just happen to work where Mrs. Black has set up her household, and fate has dealt them a hard blow.
My bride has a problem, we know, and we have tried to talk to her about it, I've tried to get her to go to counseling, talk to a priest, somebody.....anybody, but it's all been a fruitless effort. I'm seriously considering having an intervention. Maybe I can get that TV show to come and film it.
What I want her to understand is.....her problem isn't hurting her; it's hurting me!
My back hurts, my feet hurt, my hands are killing me, and my butt-bone is sore. My knees are cursing me nonstop, and I think my shoulder blades are kick-boxing each other!
Each of the boxes in that picture above represents another project, another job, another entry on the "honey, get your ass to work" list.
I'm doing my best to shield the children from her condition, but they see right through me. All they do is laugh at me every time the Ring doorbell chimes. I know they are doing it just to hide the hurt and embarrassment, poor things. I will keep trying though.
Y'all wish me luck (especially after she reads this! ;) ).