Monday Monday

I got hit by a car on my way to work this morning. What a beautiful little Monday morning wake up call. A nice lady turned straight into me and sent me a-flying for a close encounter of the pavement kind. Now I was on the bike path and apparently the bike light had turned red while I was going through, but the regular traffic was green still on so everyone was going through, no flashing green for her left hand turn or anything, and apparently she missed the part of drivers training where you yield to people who are already in the intersection. Fucking women drivers. So this nice Scottish lady helped me get off the road and then the driver comes over and says, "Are you okay? You should really pay more attention."

YOU SHOULD REALLY NOT HIT ME WITH YOUR CAR.

The nice lady gave her a full what-the-fuck, which was nice because I was shaking and not verbalising well. All is well though, I didn't need that knee anyway. I'll post pictures tomorrow when the bruise has set in nicely.

(*Bike is fine Eli! Not a scratch that wasn't already there. That thing is a champ.)

So I get home, drenched to the bone and see I have a package from mother waiting at the post office. Awesome! A package from home will totally make this day better! Off I go to the post office and I come home with this:

I don't know if you can tell this in the photo, but the darker areas are actually damp spots in the cardboard box. When the post office man brought it out there were literally fruit glies following it. What is this, hate mail?

I open it up, the scent of rotten everything slaps me across the face. What small piece of hell could she have sent me this time?

Milk?? No, wait, what's this inside the carton?

She's sent canned goods with popcorn as packing material. I could not possible have thought this up in my wildest dreams. She used actual popped corn as packing material. Genius, obviously.

But what in sam hell is that awful smell?

She packed ripe tomatoes around the milk cartons.

That is to say, she packed ripe tomatoes around the milk cartons in a box going through the mail.

This is far and away better than the time she sent shortbread cookies in a regular envelope. They arrived exactly as you might expect: completely disintegrated back into their original ingredients.

However, the three jars of homeade antipasto arrived safe, if a little smelly. There is nothing in the world better than homeade antipasto and I will wade through cardboard boxes soaked in rotten tomatoes for it anyday.