My part of the globe, anyway. Jesus, it’s miserable out. I just walked down to the mailbox and it’s so stinking hot and humid after a rather lengthy thunderstorm this morning.
Have I ever mentioned how much I love my mailbox? All the apartment mailboxes are lined up on a shelf, they have little red flags (I’m a city girl, I never knew what they were for) and there’s a cute little shingled roof over the whole thing.
When I first moved here, I kept looking for regular mailboxes. I finally asked a neighbor where I could mail things, and she looked at me as if I were crazy. “Honey, you put it in the mailbox and put the red flag up,” she explained carefully.
When I first lived in a house with mice, I went out and bought a lot of traps. I’m such a city dork that, trained by years of watching “Tom & Jerry,” I thought the traps would snap shut on the mouse’s tail, I’d take the little critter outside and let it go.
Hah. I got over it, though. When my kids saw all the squished mice with the bloody, bulging eyes, they started crying: “Mommy, why are you killing God’s creatures?”
I explained my position. “When they’re outside, they’re God’s creatures,” I muttered. “When they’re in here, they’re on my turf.”
Kind of the opposite of the Bush Doctrine, now that I think about it.