“I have a special friend who visits me twice a week and brings me gifts.
His name is Rich and he works delivering packages.
Covid and boredom and not wanting someone to sneeze directly into your eyeball means a lot of online shopping.
I’ll admit, I have a problem. (I’ll just never admit that to my husband.)
I work part time as a social worker, it’s a demanding job that requires a lot, so I deserve a toe straightener and home dental kit from Amazon. I do!
I also deserve to nap in between those days I work, because kids never let me sleep. I mean, they’re either standing on top of me while I’m sleeping, whispering my name until I wake up frightened — shortening my life span by about 40 years. Or they’re just sleeping on top of me… there is no real in between.
Naturally, every time Rich comes to deliver, I am in my best clothes. My best outfits.
Lol… no. You know that’s a big fat lie. I usually have chocolate stains on me, I’m drooling a little, and my hair looks electrocuted a little. He’s always friendly and assures me he believes me when I tell him, ‘I do get dressed, and I don’t always look like this.’ He laughs, and I swear he’s in love with me secretly. I mean, who wouldn’t want a middle-aged mother of 3 with vomit stains and spinach in her teeth? WHO? Name someone. I won’t wait. That’s awkward.
Anyway, so today I had a nap. Children were burning the house down unsupervised, don’t worry Beatrice. (Dad was continuing to be a father).
And in the lightest part of my nap, I heard a knock, and I knew it was Rich. My beloved. Bringer of dreams. He’s like one of the three wise men. I jumped up, patted my hair down, and opened the door.
Rich gave me his million-dollar smile, and put the parcel down. As he went back up to let me know he would sign on my behalf because he didn’t want my potential Covid fingers touching his pad to do a scribble that didn’t resemble my signature at all, his eyes climbed up, he stopped briefly at my chest and looked away.
Friendly Rich had looked like he had seen a ghost. The color drained from his face, then turned to a nice shade of red. Like fine wine.
You know where this is going, don’t you? Well FYI… I didn’t.
I thought Rich had checked Thelma and Louise out and knew they had both succumbed to the grips of gremlin breastfeeding hands.
I thought, ‘Ahh well. They point to the floor, what can ya do?’
Anyway he continued being weird AF and told me to have a good day, instead of allowing me to continue my awkward same conversation about restrictions and swearing I’ll be decent next time he comes.
I shut the door, then went to the mirror to check out the damage.
And well, that’ll do it. No wonder Rich was embarrassed: Thelma and Louise decided to try and run away while I was napping and escape the clutches of my 2013 maternity bra. In fact, Rich probably couldn’t tell where my eyes were because there were two dark dots staring at him, actually one and half dots. Like I was winking at him.
Somehow my nipple must have slipped out while napping, and, of course, there was no time to check so I answered the door and gave Rich a metaphorical tit slap.
Could I feel it? No… I lost feeling when the last piranha breastfed. Now, it’s dead. Like my soul.
And my humility.
Because if there’s one way to squash your online shopping, ladies and gentlemen, it’s to open the front door with one boob hanging out saying, ‘How you doin’?’ like Joey from friends.
P.S. I changed his name because I actually don’t know it, but he lets me know I must be rich because I get a delivery every week. Pfft. It’s TWICE a week.
P.P.S. This was a picture I sent to a friend to show her how happy I was.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Laura Mazza, where it originally appeared. Follow Laura on Instagram here. Do you have a similar experience? We’d like to hear your important journey. Submit your own story here. Be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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