Some son of a bitch . . .
deliberately mowed down our mailbox. I know I've laughed about how often we've had to repair it, but I'm not laughing this time. And just a word to the wise - I wouldn't be laughing in the comments, either. The body (which is sunk in concrete) and the post are knocked flat, teetering right on the edge of rolling into the ditch which is filled with snow. We're going to need rope and possibly the Jeep to pull it out. I found the box on the lawn, so I had to carefully make my way down the hill and retrieve it - and our mail. One piece was laying about a foot away. I don't know if we lost anything else to the wind or the impact. God, I hope that there wasn't a check in there. I don't know, maybe it was a snow plow, because that was one hell of an impact. Whoever it is . . . you're a fucking asshole.
Tomorrow is going to be cold - like single digits - and windy with flurries, and I'm going to have to get out there and try to repair this thing. I'm not even sure how or if it can be repaired, but we (meaning Mark and I) have to do something: no mail box, no mail. You know, it's never a fun way to spend an hour, and I sure as hell don't need this shit this week.
Tomorrow is going to be cold - like single digits - and windy with flurries, and I'm going to have to get out there and try to repair this thing. I'm not even sure how or if it can be repaired, but we (meaning Mark and I) have to do something: no mail box, no mail. You know, it's never a fun way to spend an hour, and I sure as hell don't need this shit this week.