(Original Publication Date, 8 November 1990)
“I am an idiot! I actually mailed you a love letter! I am a stupid, moronic, butt-headed jerk!!!” I remember saying these things right after I mailed you my letter. I tried to get the letter back, but my initial attempt to open the mail collection box using the top of my head did not work. Maybe I believed the mail collection box would open thanks to my deep thoughts. Or maybe I believed when I called myself butt-headed, this meant I could butt my head against the mail collection box and it would open. No matter how deeply I thought or how hard I butted my head, the mail box would not open. I knew I was not really stupid or I would have called myself “stoopid”. However, right around this time, a man walked by and said, “Use your hands, you moron.” This was when I knew I was moronic.
“Why, oh why didn’t I think before I dropped the letter into the box? Why didn’t I wait until tomorrow?” I remember thinking this when I finally used my hand to open the top of the mail collection box and realized even with the top of it open, I could not get to the letter. If had waited until tomorrow, then everything could have been different. Maybe the opening on the top of the mail collection box would be wider so I could get my hand in there. Maybe I would develop super elastic powers and I could stretch my arm really thin to get in the mailbox. Maybe a passing bee would zip into the mailbox and get my letter for me. There were all kinds of possibilities, if only I had waited until tomorrow.
“I can now prepare for complete and total humiliation! -- What made me do this to myself?” I remember saying this after I closed the lid on the mail collection box. After all, you know when you write a love letter to someone else it is all about you. People tell me all the time, “It’s all about you, isn’t it Michael?” It’s hard to be truly humble and admit when someone else has it exactly right. They are giving me the hard truth. It really is all about me.
“Love and stupidity. They mean the same … they’re just spelled differently.” I remember thinking this after I put my hands in my pockets and was leaning my stomach forward so I looked pregnant. At least I think I thought it instead of saying it. There was a man walking by who said, “What are you talking about youngster? Love and stupidity don’t mean the same thing. Oh wait, I see you are pregnant. I getcha now youngster. Yep, it was pretty stupid of you to get pregnant, that’s for sure, if that boy didn’t love you.” I know what you must be thinking. “Michael can’t get pregnant. Michael is not a girl.” You are right of course, but you will have to admit I am better-looking than most girls.
Thanks for reading,