truth thursday

Tonight, I opened my mailbox and found a package. It wasn't a large one by any means, maybe 8x8, but I was immediately concerned. You see, I have a mind like a trap. I remember everything. And I did not remember purchasing anything at all as of late and certainly not anything that would come in an 8x8 box. I studied it and after realizing that not only did I not remember buying anything, but that I also didn't recognize the return address, I concluded that this could only mean one thing: someone was trying to blow me up. So I did what any normal person would do. I wrote the return address down on a sheet of paper from my Justin Bieber notepad and put it in my jewelry box. Because, you know, if I blow up, then my hope clearly would be that whomever looted my jewels would discover the piece of paper and realize it was a clue into the mystery death of deeze. I then took the curious box outside, held it over the porch rail, and opened it up...

Only to find a plastic ziploc bag full of "it's a girl!" straws. And then it hit me like a bomb to the face and I remembered! Bridgette, one of the co-hostesses for the baby shower next weekend, was shipping all her contributions to my house, and this was package 1. Foolish doesn't describe how I felt. Actually, I didn't feel that bizarre for thinking someone wanted to blow me up. In all honesty, my first thought after realizing I was not going to get blown up was "welp. i guess i really do watch too much criminal minds."

I called Emily and she applauded me. She told me Spencer Reid would be proud of me. Damn right he would be. I think my chances of being an FBI agent just went up. A lot.