Mail call. . . .

February 08, 2010

Awaiting a package from my family back in the States, I was mildly suprised to see a rather large bulky item sticking out of my rather small mailbox. I know what my parents have sent inclusive of the peanut butter cups, peanut butter M&Ms and a few other pieces generally not seen in this country very often. The normal result is the small note from the postman saying "Sorry to miss you. Your package has now been moved to the farthest possible point we could get it to and still stay within the United Kingdom." You laugh, but we have a central warehouse a five minute walk from our apartment. Instead, they transport it to a warehouse four miles away. Good to know USPS and Royal Mail share the same sense of humor and timing.
Anyway, the package is jammed into our communal mailbox with the free leaflets of Golden Wok oriental cuisine and Red Rocket Pizza with free delivery. Wrapped in protective celophane, I can see from a distance the blue writing of 10 on it and a picture of the Flag and the Constituion peeking from the mail slot of our poor little black mail box. Don't ask why the mail man can't put it in the box, I don't know.
You know a package from home is always exciting. Thinking it might be from my Alumni of SJU or maybe something as exciting. Like a small child with the silly grin, I cover the four steps up to our main entrance with a bound. This is actually a good effort as I am carrying grocceries for dinner plus some plates for the kitchen. No, I don't order from Golden Wok ever.
Giddy with excitement, I lift the package out of the mail slot collecting a piece of junk mail at the same time. Unfolding the magazine, I remember the sensation I felt even when I was living back in the States.
Yup, the IRS 1040 forms & instructions for overseas filers. All the forms everybody in the US enjoy, plus a few more thrown in with their instructions. Only a few hundred pages.
Well, thankfully, I will have something to put me to sleep tonight. If it falls off the table, it will knock me unconscious.
Hey, I still haven't gotten my peanut butter cups. . . . .