Sexy Envelopes

March 8, 2011 at 8:54 am | Posted in Around Boston, Married Life | 2 Comments
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A few weeks ago an awkward delivery guy brought me a 9″ x 11″ (padded) envelope.

“Ma’am, ummm, this is, ummm, for you…” He said, as he gingerly handed the parcel to me with a sheepish grin, lack of eye contact, and borderline creepy chuckle.

I took the envelope and thanked him, but he just stood there, almost like he wanted to ask me something. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No… I, ummm… sorry,” he said as he finally turned to go, after sneaking a second look at my “personality.”

I closed the door, threw the envelope on the counter, and continued whatever I was doing at the time (probably cleaning – our apartment feels like it is in a constant state of disarray these days).

Later that night, Andrew noticed the envelope – and by that I mean that when he inquired if I had ordered something “in particular,” he looked a little… intrigued… But again, I was far too busy to pay attention, and I assumed his look implied that he thought I was spending money frivolously, or that I was involved in some sort of questionable tomfoolery (because let’s be honest: when is my tomfoolery not questionable?).

Well, the day before we left for Costa Rica, I finally went to open the envelope and realized what all the fuss was about: the return address was a company called “In the Mood Intimates.”  The delivery fella was probably using his imagination to figure out what I might have ordered, and Andrew was probably wondering if I was planning ahead for our honeymoon (which we haven’t even scheduled yet! The reign of the “bad bride” continues).

Well, dear reader(s), my life is an open book to you, and I have no shame  very little shame, so if you’re as curious as that delivery guy and want in on my dirty little secret, here goes…

I ordered a new pair of Spanx for my brother’s wedding extravaganza. My dress for “white night” (imagine P. Diddy as a Yid and you’ll get the idea) felt a little snug, so I turned to the gods of faux-svelte-ness for help. The envelope had an unabashedly unsexy pair of Spanx – and that’s as intimate as a gal can get, if you ask me!

While I wasn’t sorry to disappoint the creepy delivery guy, and I am pleased to say that I didn’t spend any frivolous cash (gentlemen, a piece of advice: never question financial expenditures related to Spanx – no good can come of that discussion! You WILL accidentally call your lady a porker and be in gigantic trouble), I’m most pleased to report that my white outfit zipped… eventually 😉


If It Fits, It Ships!

December 18, 2009 at 10:17 am | Posted in Around Boston | 1 Comment
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You know that slogan for the USPS, “If it fits, it ships?” Yesterday they proved they’re dead serious. I had to return some coats and a dress, but I knew it was going to be tough to fit it all in one box. So I brought Sarah and the Lady Gaga-loving colleague Rhymes-With-Spiesah from our office. We crammed all that clothing in a large flat-rate box. And when I say crammed, I mean Sarah had to sit on it to get the box closed. Sarah and I both had to hold the box together while Rhymes-With-Spiesah wrapped it in packing tape. And that’s where things went horribly wrong.

Somehow, Rhymes-With-Spiesah cut herself. And I don’t mean a tiny paper-cut. We’re talking stitches, or at least a butterfly bandage. Sarah and I didn’t realize the extent of the injury until we handed the package to the clerk. And then I noticed that the package was covered in blood. I fully admit that I am prone to exaggeration and dramatization. This is not one of those times. It looked like I murdered a small animal and wiped my entrails-covered hands on the box. Too much? It’s true. But I have no photographic evidence because Sarah and I both forgot our Blackberries at the office and Rhymes-With-Spiesah was too busy tending to her wound.

There are two great parts of this story. The first is that the clerk had no reaction to the overstuffed, bloody package I was shipping. None. He didn’t even ask if there was anything fragile, perishable or hazardous in it. Probably because he didn’t want to know. The second is that while Rhymes-With-Spiesah held her bleeding hand above her heart to slow the flow of blood and I calmly completed my transaction as if this were all completely normal (and let’s face it, in my life, it is), Sarah matter-of-factly announced, “Don’t mind me, I’m just removing the blood from my hands with a little packing tape.” And our clerk still did not bat an eye.

So apparently even hazardous material like someone else’s blood will ship as long as you can fit it in a flat-rate box. Which is pretty convenient and economical. It’s probably the one thing brown can’t do for you.


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