A Jen Too Many

When I was little I was desperately jealous of the the mail my parents would get. All those mysterious, inviting envelopes, containing who knew what delights. Nothing was more exciting than to get something addressed to me, and often, when there wasn't anything for me (which was most of the time), my mother would let me have a piece of junk mail to open.

Mom always used to tell me that when I was a grown up I wouldn't be so thrilled with mail. She warned me that for grown-ups mail was usually full of undesirables - bills and junk mail, primarily. It was as thrilling for her to get good mail as it was for me to get any mail at all.

Boy, that mother of mine. What a wet blanket. I was sure she was wrong. When I grew up my life would be full of exciting mail. I was sure of it.

Today I went out to get the mail. There were only two items today. A Netflix DVD, and an order from Amazon. That was it. No bills, no ads, no sell-your-timeshare offers, no you-are-invited-to-a-free-dinner-and-sales-pitch come ons, no fake letters from people I've never heard of claiming to be my neighbor and asking, "Please, won't you donate to the (fill in the blank charity)?" Just good stuff and me, grinning as I walked back up the driveway in the rain.

In all the years since I became an official grown-up, I do believe this is the first time I have ever gotten the sort of mail delivery I dreamed of when I was little. So I had to write it down. After all, I'll probably never have it happen again.