thirtysixed

I was in a pleasant mood this morning; I awoke refreshed and serene.  It seemed as if the day was ready to give me a pass, but then a knock, the dog barking and a rush from my coffee and toast.  Half opening the door with the dog in one hand and a mug in the other, I see  a bedraggled postman thrusting his electronic device in my face along with your soggy package.  Signing it carelessly I grab the package, slam the door and drop the piece of toast I’d been holding in my mouth.  The dog eats it and I kick the arm chair and swear.  After this your manuscript should have  landed straight in the bin or been thrown out my flat window to the top deck of a passing bus for the pigeons to enjoy, but I was feeling generous.  Nothing could have prepared me for the gargantuan heap of excrement you had left me.  You had the nerve to disturb my Saturday for this?  It read like the passionless confessional of a bored traffic warden, justifying his existence to a world that doesn’t care, with a few light hearted anecdotes about his hobby of collecting toenails.  It was not good!  Besides, how did you get my home address?

R

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