You see, even though the jabbing fingers did not penetrate her body proper, they violated her security. Now the crunch of tires on gravel, the hum of rubber on blacktop, send her into paroxysms of fear. Will she be subjected to another groping at the hands of those infernal...hands?
EmBee is no stranger to violence. Just look at the walls of her home. A whacking here, a smashing there. Her humble abode may crumble, but EmBee herself refuses to bend. She has a will of iron. She's stronger than her thin-skinned neighbors.
Come on, you thieving low-lifes. Come and take my medicine. Preferably in mid-June. When the wasps build papery condos overhanging EmBee.
There ARE psychiatrists who trained at the MAIL Clinic (not to be confused with the Mayo Clinic) who could schedule therapy sessions with EmBee. Give them a call...
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteThanks for the advice. I'm sure they could get her all sorted out!
Such a tragedy.
ReplyDeleteStephen,
ReplyDeleteYes. Nobody stepped up to defend our captive EmBee.
So, what happened to your mailbox? And is that it, the round one? What's it made of? Curious minds want to know.
ReplyDeleteLynn,
ReplyDeleteOur mailbox is made out of metal pipe. That's because before the homeowners banded together to make that wooden enclosure, ne'er-do-wells enjoyed bashing her brains out. Hick loves to envision the face of the hoodlum who whacked her the first time with an aluminum bat. He's hoping it was in the winter, with temperatures below freezing. That would have provided the most satisfying (to Hick) vibration up that hoodlum's arms. You can see that EmBee the mailbox is no stranger to a beating.
The most recent incident was when the mailman left a package ON TOP of EmBee, saying it wouldn't fit inside. And somebody TOOK THE PACKAGE in the four hours between when it was left and we got home. Probably has a little something to do with that package being from The Medicine Shoppe.