And the UPS guy, and the Fed X guy…
Every time they show up I’m convinced I’m about to get something with some money it and I get really excited.
I’m also convinced that not only is the word, “Gullible” tattooed on my forehead and my rear end, but it’s spray painted somewhere on the back of my truck where I’ll never see it, but every salesman, delivery man and repair man can.
And I know they all follow me home.
And that’s not even the saddest part…
The saddest part is my family has attached a permanent morphine drip to my arm to calm me down when the doorbell rings and I correctly guess that I’m about to sign for something that doesn’t belong to me, or I’m about to buy something I never thought I needed.
Until some salesman told me I needed it.
And it usually goes something like this:
“Hi, Mr. Mailman…how are you?