September 25, 2013: A Little Mailbox Problem

Ben displaying what is left of our brick mailbox
Our mailbox bit the dust tonight. And that was no small feat. It was tall and made of brick. Ben's friend, Addy, was the unfortunate offender. Her parents will be happy to know that the truck they bought her is a safe haven for their young driver. Addy and her pick-up truck departed my driveway unscathed. My mailbox wasn't as lucky.

It was garbage day, so I was hoping for the best (crushed garage cans and recycle bins) as I sat on my bed and heard the bedlam through my opened windows. Not so lucky. My brick fortress of a mailbox was leveled like a house of cards.

Addy cried as I heard Ben tell her, "My mom doesn't care. She's really nice." With reassurance, Addy went on her way and the boys did the heavy lifting; one brick at a time.

"Mom, are you mad?" Ben asked after his tearful female friend departed.

I really wasn't. I was grateful the victim was a bunch of bricks and not my step-dog or small child. Hopefully Addy learned a lesson in the usefulness of a rear view mirror. I backed into an El Camino outside the Avalon Ballroom when I was seventeen. And on the day we moved into our house, I backed into my neighbor's mailbox. My introduction to my neighborhood. So I felt Addy's pain.

No harm. No foul. Just an old mailbox. My mom ran into it once too. In that case, just her car was damaged, but the mailbox looked fine. I am pretty sure the old brick fortress was on it's last days anyway. Time for a plastic number.

The aftermath


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