I don’t know if it’s the besst thing, but it’s certainly the craziest thing.
Sunday morning Dad, Interrupted and I are in our bathrobes, lounging on the couch, reading and drinking coffee with Elmer snoring in between us. It’s 10 a.m.
The doorbell rings. Is it a neighbor? Is it an evangelist?
No, it’s the postman. On Sunday.
In a world where even Saturday delivery hangs by a thread of postage glue, I don’t even know what to think of the postman standing on my doorstep with a package for me.
I’m a little nervous as I open this package. Is it a subpoena? A bomb? WTH?
I crack open the cardboard and peer in and see that it’s a….
To understand this, you have to know that 24 hours earlier, I caught Dad, Interrupted using the mug I cook my morning eggs in. He was using it to cover the butter out on the counter.
I gently suggested that he not use my only egg-cooking-mug, and resolved to order a proper butter dish from Amazon forthwith to put an end to this makeshift abomination. Which I did. I used my Prime membership, and was informed I’d have it mid-week.
So when I peered into the box and saw that butter dish, I about had a stroke. What stray button had I clicked on the Amazon website to make *this* happen? How much shipping expense did I incur to get this $10 butter dish on Sunday, in less than 24 hours?
As it turned out, none. I guess Mr. Amazon got my order, happened to light on my butter dish (and it’s a very nice one, at that), and sent it out immediately upon receipt.
Technology, for the win!
© E. Stocking Evans 2014
Mom, Interrupted 