With love, from Mom

There I was, minding my own business... well, to be accurate I was minding your own business since I was checking blogs and commenting and stuff... but, back to me. There I was, minding my own business when the doorbell rang. I went to the door and to my surprise, there stood the postman.

***In this case, he really was a man, so I hope my insensitive use of the word "postman" did not offend anyone. If it did, please just mentally insert the phrase "/woman" and have a drink, you'll be alright.***

He (the postman -- sheesh you guys, stay with me, here...) held -- at arm's length -- a rather large package which appeared to have been through a war zone, and when I opened the door he cautiously set it down and involuntarily inched away from it. I instantly recognized the handwriting on the label as my mother's, and simultaneously became aware that the battered package was literally plastered with stickers like the one pictured here.

And I thought to myself, "Aw gee, isn't that nice? Hazardous materials from Mom."