Suspense is One Helluva Drug

Last week during a conversation with Baskin Robbins, he tells me "I'm sending you something. You should get it by next week. Look out for it". And nothing else. No hints as to what was in the mail. NADA. (Sidebar: I know its been a lonnnng time since I've mentioned Baskin Robbins on this blog. As always I have my reasons. All I'll say is "peaks and valleys, my friends. PEAKS AND VALLEYS. carry on)


oh for the love of all things gift wrapped, whyyyyyy???


See, I love a surprise. I love to surprise people - the looks on their faces in that moment when they realize the surprise is PRICELESS. I actually like being surprised (pleasantly surprised, all that negative unhappy shit can kick rocks). However, I don't like knowing that I'm going to be surprised. It's Abu Dhabi torture.....okay not really that tortuous but you get what I mean, right??


The very next day I began stalking my mailman. Yeah I know he said a week but maybe he was trying to throw me off my game, right?! No?! Oh! This still didn't stop me. I even made my bladder wait an extra 3 minutes to relieve itself because I HAD TO CHECK MY MAILBOX. And nada. I even checked the mailbox on Sunday. *hangs head in shame*

Finally, I said something Sunday evening. I had to. I was trying to play nonchalant but I couldn't be so cool about it no mo.


"Sooooooooooo ummmmmm, I've been checking my mailbox.....and ummmmm, I haven't seen your name on anything....so yeah, I ummmm, I feel like I'm stalking my mailman......"


"Hahahahahaha. Nah, you can start stalking him Wednesday the earliest. I didn't mail it out right away. I was looking for something."


"Something like what?"


"You'll see."


And after asking me how big is my box (that's what he said) and how far is my post office from me if I have to retrieve something (oooh its bigger than my box - that's what she said...hahahahahaa), he stealthfully changed the topic. I let it go for the time being. But with the requisite * side eye * to the phone of course.


So here we are. It's Wednesday, and I am ridiculously impatiently wanting to leave the plantation just to go home and check my mailbox. NOW!!!! I've attempted to call my local post office to find out the approximate time of mail delivery for my building and I couldn't get past the incessant ringing since apparently they are too busy to answer the damn phone. I'm tempted to * cough, cough* leave early but then I'll be pisssssssssssed with the postal service if there is no package waiting for me when I get home. (And please oh please don't let me get that ugly ass salmon colored slip telling me I have to go pick up my package. My assigned post office is in the HOOD and yes, I'se scurred. I'm allergic to that level of hoodtastic foolywag like its pollen and ragweed)


A couple of months back, Baskin Robbins sent me a card in the mail. He didn't say anything about it. But once I opened my mailbox after a particularly craptastic day and saw this pink envelope with my name scribbled in his handwriting amongst my stack of bills and junk mail, all was right with the world. I grinned from diamond earring to diamond earring. It wasn't a mushy card, but that's irrelevant. The fact that he thought enough about me to actually buy the card, hunt down my address (I've sent him a few things in the mail but I didn't think he kept my address handy), and drop it in the mail was touching. The card is still on my dresser.


The beauty was I never knew it was coming. He scored MAJOR butterfly points with me for that. This isn't to say that he won't score additional butterfly points when I actually get to tear open this package like its Christmas morn. I get why he felt compelled to tell me to expect the arrival because, with this being a package, it obviously costs more than the $2.69 he spent on my card (what?! I can't look at the back of the card?????). So whatever it is, I pseudo-patiently await its arrival and gleefully torture myself into a state of crazy shakes wondering what the hell could he have sent to me?? For the record, he could send me a year's supply of this cereal and I would be happier than Tiger with anyone but his wife (and my digestive tract would thank him as well...hahahahaa). And by Tiger, I mean Tony the Tiger. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. LOL But seriously, its not about what's in the package. I don't care what it is. I. JUST. WANT. TO. KNOW!!!!!


Ugh! I really don't want to stalk my mailman. He's a nice guy. But he needs to hurry up and bring whatever Baskin Robbin has sent my way. The suspense is killing me faster than this new finagled KFC sammich will kill this country (SIDEBAR: really KFC, you couldn't think of anything better than slapping 2 pieces of fried chicken together to act as a bun with bacon, cheese and sauce slapped in the middle?? WTF?!! I hate to tell you this but ummm, if Big Pun is your target audience for this edible disaster, he's dead BUT I did meet his stunt double recently. I'll let him know about your sammich if I ever see him again). How many more hours, days, weeeeks (exaggeration for dramatic flair) do I have to wait to find out exactly what Baskin Robins decided to bestow upon lil ole me???

I hope I've worked you up into a curious tizzy as well. Have you worked yourself up into a state of crazy shakes wondering what the hell is coming in the mail?? You know what they say: misery loves company. But this is a good kind of misery, right??!! Are you with me??