Today, a crumply, empty envelope was returned to me with a note from the post office that advised me against watching so closely as my oatmeal spins in the microwave every morning. It was nice of the USPS to sit on my failure for so long as, I assume, they considered the kindest way to break the news of my neurological damage.
"Hey, thanks for the bracelet. So sweet of you to send it. Oh, right, just kidding I'd rather pay for the envelope's vacation and have you think I'm an ungrateful asshole."Ironically enough, this wrinkled abortion of a thank you note showed up on the same day as my Mensa magazine. I shit you not, I'm frugal enough to use all of the brain's power levels like that. Why would I waste the lower levels for some kind of constant state of logic? LAME.
Not shown: Power Levels 'laughable judgments' and 'talented lies' have been absorbed into other categories according to this year's internal census preferences which I won't be linking to because I've just made them up.
My roommate pointed out that, for all intents and purposes, the post office now assumes there are two different Laura's living in this apartment.