To Have That Certain Glow
DANGER! DANGER! DANGER WILL ROBINSON!
Break out the Hazmat suits and I hope you’ve already had kids because…well, you know.
But your complexion is lovely.
Some days the world throws me a curveball and all I want to do is crawl back into bed, assume the fetal position, and turn the electric blanket up to nine.
It takes a lot to make my eyes go “Bugaboo!” but yesterday I was stopped in my tracks by the fine folks from UPS. Who would think such a thing was possible?
My wife, the lovely and perpetually nifty, Dawn, buys her cosmetics online (Ever since our local Macy’s Store went belly up). Her cosmetics line of choice is Clinique. Be advised: When they start spelling things in French you can be sure that they are inflating the prices by about 40%.
What happened yesterday was a mysterious and disturbing delivery. When the guy in brown knocked on our door I could see that he had a concerned look on his face. Actually, it was more like abject terror. He handed Dawn the package, she signed for it, and the driver beat feet down the walk. He gunned that big brown van and laid rubber getting away from us.
Dawn was looking concerned as well when she brought the package back inside. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “I’m not sure that this is my cosmetics.”
“Why do you say that?” Now I was getting a bit nervous.
She handed me the package, about the size of a shoe box. It had her name and address on it, but it also had four large labels saying,
“Hazardous Materials Shipping Paper”
Since when is Clinique cosmetics a “Hazardous Material?” I don’t recall ever hearing that they had started using Plutonium in their lipstick. No wonder the UPS driver had that “I want my Mommy” look on his face when he knocked on our door. Lord knows what he was expecting to have come to answer his taps? I know for a fact that there are very few Mutants living on our street (Now that our neighbors have moved to Florida).
After I gave Dawn a little pep talk, from the other room, she opened the box and checked to see if there were any spent fuel rods from Three Mile Island in there next to her Mascara. When she assured me that there was nothing in the box that would make her glow in the dark I examined the box. This is an actual picture of the labels that were plastered all over the box. The questions formed in my twisted brain. Where did this obvious boo-boo originate? Was it at Clinique? Or was it at UPS? What was “Big Brown” trying to do? What were they drinking?
While my brow was knotted in deep thought Dawn brought up another side to this mystery.
“If my cosmetics got labeled as “Hazardous Materials”, which they are obviously not, does this mean that there is another package filled with real Hazardous Materials,” not properly labeled, riding around town in the back of that UPS truck?”
If that is the case then that UPS driver might be growing extra organs by dinnertime.
It’s a good thing he’s dressed in brown.