Crazy Daisy and the Fedex Package.

So I was minding my socially distanced business- threatening to actually clean my bedroom, reorganize my closet or better yet- write. The doorbell rang. Another package being delivered.

Survival necessities.

Chances are you’re spooked. Chances are you're tired, bored and a little pissed off at the world we are destroying -for which I feel; now paying a rather hefty price.

Chances are you’re holed up in your home Netflixed out not watching your caloric intake and binge watching PBS,( I believe PBS will make me smarter) Amazon Prime and the stock market.

I pressed the buzzer and waited. I had gloves on, sanitizing wipes in my pocket and bleach spray at the ready. I was Buffy the vampire slayer in Attack of the Corona Virus. (No mask- I don’t do masks).

The Fedex guy gets to my door. I crack it open. “Hi” I said. “Dianne?” He asks.

Ritual pleasantries.

I might be ready to zap him to death with bleach but I could still be polite.

“Leave the package there.” I motion to the wall next to my door. I was now the dirty bomb expert from the movie The Peacemaker.

He extends his device for my signature. I look at him with dread, I extend my gloved hand and slash across the pad with my finger. I look at him, he looks at me. He steps back. Christ! We were not 6 feet apart. His mouth twists in a crooked smile.

O sugar!

Dressed in an old purple robe, the front of my hair sticking up in very odd angles, my reading glasses perched on my forehead, gloves and a spray bottle at the ready- I was Corona crazy Daisy.

I tried to grin it away as I retreated with a “Thanks” sliding the box over the threshold and shutting the door with all the grace of Inspector Clouseau. I was irked. I kicked it to the side of the door and ran to wash my ungloved hand.

Christ! I would be the black woman killed off at the beginning of End of Days.

I scrubbed my hands with bleach for the 10th time that day and began to wonder what the hell had I ordered.

I couldn’t remember.

I approached the box, shoved it with my foot, looked at the shipping label, nugged it back into its original position and walked away- leaving it unopened.

See - Chances are - maybe you’ve been ordering necessities like food, water, toilet paper -lol- and maybe- because you’ve felt the world is a walking dead spin off which I’ve never watched because I have too vivid an imagination and would never survive- the watching of it, that is.

Chances are you made a four am purchase of that bag you promised yourself years ago as a coming of age party for one.

I had.

It was everything I wanted.

It was midnight blue soft as butter simple enough to wear with yoga pants and sophisticated enough to rock the Met. It was a walk on the wild side purchase for what a good girl I’d been working ungodly hours and paying off my credit cards. It was my splurge.

The problem?

I purchased it from Tuscany Leather- Firenze Italy.

I love Italy. The food, the wine, the leather, the people, the place. I have people in Italy. Young and old. I have people all over the world. Young and old.

The box is still sitting at the front door waiting to be opened. It’s a complex relationship I can’t unravel. I’ll let you know when I do.