I wasn't feeling well this morning. Headache city. There's something in the air that's aggravating my allergies. I managed to drag myself out of bed long enough to down some Advil and send a note to the folks at work saying I'd be getting in late. Then, back to bed to wait for some relief. About 9:30 the door bell rang. Huh? I assumed it was the property manager or someone leaving a notice on the door (or, worse yet, someone soliciting for something) so I ignored it. That's the way they do things at my townhouse complex...they stick the notice on the door, ring the bell, and move on to the next door. A few minutes later, though, I heard a phone ringing. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs and toward the back of the house. But, definitely from inside the house! What? It sounded like the cordless phone in the kitchen. But, the phone in my bedroom didn't ring. I picked it up anyway and only got a dial tone. Very odd. I went to the top of the stairs and looked down. Nothing going on. Too strange. Back to bed. I eventually started to feel somewhat better so decided to shower and dress for work.
I was downstairs getting ready to leave when I remembered the sound of the ringing phone. So, I decided to look out back. I almost never go out into my patio. I just don't. There have been times when 3 or 4 months pass by without me looking out that back door. But, I looked out today. And, what did I see? A box laying in the ivy ground cover. The door bell. The phone. Sigh...a delivery truck driver had attempted to leave a package and, when he got no response, he tossed the box over the fence into the patio area. The phone I heard was clearly his cell phone. But, I never get mail at home. I have a post office box. When I order something that can't be delivered to the box, I have it shipped to my office. Clearly, this was someone else's package. What a pain. I went out and got the box...all the while preparing myself for the calls to FedEx or UPS or whoever it would be, asking them to come back and get their mistake.
But, the box was addressed to me. What? And, more mysteriously, it was from something called wine.com. I don't drink wine. Who in the world would send me wine? To my house? Lots of people know my post office box address and I could see someone I'd met "on the 'Net" sending me wine 'cause they might not know that I don't drink wine. But not so many know people know my home address. Everyone who knows me well enough to know my home address knows me well enough to know there's no point in sending me wine. So, I opened the box and read the card. Hmmm...Melissa, Pete, and Emily. And, it's not wine. It's champagne. Ah...I get it. You see...I'm turning 40. One week from today. I don't drink champagne either. But. It is the big four-oh. I guess that's what happens when you start getting old. People just don't care if you don't drink wine. You're old. You get champagne. At least, I guess that's what it is.
The funny thing is that I could've easily gone weeks, perhaps even months, without noticing that box outside. If it hadn't been for that nasty headache I had this morning, I would've been at work. I wouldn't have heard the door bell. I wouldn't have heard the sound of that phone ringing. I wouldn't have had any reason at all to look out that back door. Odd how things go, eh? I also like how the delivery guy just didn't care that he was delivering what was likely a BOTTLE of wine. He tossed the box over the fence anyway. Heh. What did he care? It wasn't his wine.
And, so the games begin.
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