My husband is used to boxes arriving at the door. His face kind of screws itself up into a question mark as he sees another package arrive and I try to stop it before it turns into a full scowl.
The exchange usually goes like this:
“There’s another package for you.”
And then me:
“I only bought three things for ten dollars each! They shipped them all in separate boxes. I swear!”
But by this time, I am usually holding an armful of plastic or cardboard and my audience has left to pursue something more interesting.
Kinda like what is probably happening with this blog post.
The other day a large box came. Large enough to pique his curiosity.
Big.
Big enough to hold anything.
Big enough to hold something fun.
Maybe something masculine.
So, he brings the box in from outside and he asks me, “What’s in the box?”
And I tried to think of something funny to say. But my brain was blank because I could honestly not recall ordering anything. No clothes. No books. Nothin’. Those same answers could be used if you swapped out the word “box” and inserted “your head” instead. Just so ya know.
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
“It’s not mine. Did you order anything?” I like to pass those big cardboard surprises off as soon as they are dropped upon my doorstep.
My husband examined it further. “It’s from Walmart,” he said without enthusiasm.
I knew the box was definitely not for me.
“Well, it’s not mine,” I proudly snorted.
So, my husband took the ginormous box and placed it on the floor. We stood around it, as though we had never received a delivery before. My hopes were not too high about a box from Walmart.
My husband opened the box.
Then he looked at me. And he rolled his eyes. From the depths of the box, he began to pull out long blue cylinders. The cylinders had one word on them, “Wondra.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. I ordered some Wondra from Walmart.”
“You ordered some Wondra?” He said his voice dripping with sarcasm (Wondra would take care of that) as he was still pulling cylinder after cylinder from the depths of the box.
He stacked them side by side. They formed a long row of floury heaven. A caterpillar formed from discounted baking products.
It was wonderful.
My inner hoarder clapped her hands with delight. She sighed with contentment. She danced a little jig and rebelliously began shaking the flour all over the house.
Real life Jenni stood facing the amusement mixed with the irk of her husband and tried not to smile.
“It’s only a three month supply,” I smugly proclaimed. Because if I had given into my hoarding temptation, I would have doubled the order and had a healthy six month supply at my ready.
“Why couldn’t she just go and get Wondra at Walmart?” Good question. Yes, I can hear your thoughts.
I can no longer go to Walmart, because I had a very real-seeming dream in which I was shopping at Walmart and I was held hostage by the scariest man.
So, you can see why I can no longer go there.
It is for safety’s sake. I am nothin’ if not careful.
And guess what? Walmart delivered my Wondra for free!
It is astounding the things that I know the lengths I will go to to avoid going to the store.
My husband is so proud.
