Thursday (or The Plight of the Plastic Mailbox)

19 Mar

Thursday was that day.

Yep.  Not my most stellar day.  It started out innocently enough.  It was actually the first day I was not going to make a trek up to Raleigh to go to the gym or meet a friend to run walk around Shelly Lake.  And since it was St. Patrick’s Day and I clearly did not plan for that in my meal planning for the week, I thought I’d go to the store to get some corned beef and cabbage for dinner.  Oh, and dental floss.  Don’t ask me why those were the three things on my list.

Just before I left the house, Clara was starting to look sleepy.  Against my better judgement, I decided to pack up and go to the store anyway instead of putting her down for a nap and going when she woke up.  I don’t know why I decided that.  Couldn’t tell ya.  If I’d just put her down, I would have probably avoided this entire situation… but alas, I did not.

After some searching at the store, I finally found the corned beef brisket, the dental floss, and picked up the other few items on my list, and headed home.  In the meantime, Clara had fallen asleep.  I tried to keep her awake, but to no avail.

As I was pulling up to the house, my neighbor, Jodi was outside.  Being the friendly, neighborly person that I am, I turned my head for a split second and waved.

And then it happened.

As I turned my head back to finish turning into the driveway, I saw it.

The mailbox in the process of falling over.  The sickening feeling of the post scraping against my front bumper.

I just froze.  My heart sank as I looked in the rearview mirror to see my mailbox laying on the ground, pieces of the plastic mailbox post laying in the yard, and a jagged remainder of the post still in the ground.

I suppose I should be glad that it was a plastic post.  Wood probably would have done much more damage.  Eh…

The best part was that not only was Jodi there to witness my humiliation, but there was also a couple taking a walk down the street.  The three witnesses are probably the only reason I didn’t burst out into tears immediately, because as soon as I got inside and put Clara down for a nap, I completely broke down.

I went back out, still bawling, to try and get the white plastic marks off the front bumper of my car.  Once again, I should be glad that it was a plastic post, because it did no damage to the bumper, and most of the marks came off pretty easily.  The remaining ones will take a little elbow grease, but I’m pretty confident that they’ll come off too.

So now, I am on the hunt for a new mailbox post.  It would be nice to just get a 4×4 wooden post and stick the mailbox on it, but our HOA requires that they all be uniform throughout the neighborhood, so I’ve been chasing down whoever might know about where I can get one.  I called our HOA, and left a message, but apparently they leave early on Fridays.  That must mean they leave at 10am, because that’s when I called.  Why even bother working on Fridays?  So then I called our builder, and they actually do work on Fridays and were able to give me the number of the company where they buy the posts.  That company’s number connected me to a cell phone for the woman who runs it who wasn’t in the office, but has promised to get back to me tomorrow with the info.  Who knew, right?

In the end, it’s my pride more than anything that’s hurt.  Clara and I are fine.  The car’s fine.  Even the mailbox itself is fine.

There is just one pitiful plastic post that is currently being held up by a softball bat and painter’s tape.

All for some corned beef and dental floss.

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