"Patience, Grasshopper"

I’m trying to be very Zen about the growing stack of boxes on the dining room table. The Femail Man came to drop a new one everyday for the last three days. They sit there, mocking me. They are soldiers awaiting the battle. A battle they will lose tomorrow. When their spilled guts will be my birthday presents. I can barely walk by them, unable to make it through the dining room without their low call. “Your birthday presents are right here! Trapped inside us!”


Torture. Tomorrow, will be my release.

The boxes arrive.

They get placed on the table.

Ripped open tomorrow.