Poop bags are on my mind. Over the weekend an Amazon box with my name on it was left on the front porch of my office building. (Doesn’t every office building have a front porch?) So what was in the box? Two boxes of earth rated unscented poop bags.
I know the box is small, for sure, bit it packs a punch. 270 bags, or about a 135 day supply for Max.
And I received two boxes. 270 days. Nine months. No worries until March 2017, when I turn 59 and 1/2.
Now, I assumed my girlfriend sent the bags. We had discussed scentless v. the G-d awful lavender scented variety I had purchased last November, and she buys lots of gifts. So I sent her a text message, thanking her. No immediate response, but that did not surprise me.
Today, I got another Amazon box. Cool! Alas, it contained another box of earth rated unscented poop bags. Another 270 bags. 3 * 270 = 810.
Once again, I thanked LB by text message. I shared the calculations in the message, and also mentioned the fact that I have 810 bags—I bought them—coming via eBay on Friday. “No more, sweetie! Please.”
And then … I got the call. LB.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Nope,” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m OK … and it wasn’t me,” she says. “I did buy you a box, but it came to my house, and it was only one box.”
“Are you sure you didn’t send me all of these bags?”
Thinking this poop bag thing could turn into something—I could corner the market, maybe—I asked after my gift. There was a snort, and something about “don’t you think you have enough poop bags?”
So now I am truly puzzled. I don’t know who sent me 810 unscented environmentally friendly poop bags, so I can’t thank him or her. I don’t know how or if I can discover the sender’s identity through Amazon.com. On line searching tells me Amazon.com will not share the sender’s name. I also worry about getting another box tomorrow. This could get creepy!
So, if you’re sending me poop bags, thank you. An anonymous message that tells me you sent them will be much appreciated. And, please, no more. The boy is a two-a-day guy!
In closing, I hope you, dear readers appreciate the fact that a certain five letter bridge term which rhymes with “worst human being in American public life, ever,” appears not even once in this piece.
P.S. If you need bags, holler. For now, I am your man!
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