Kong Dong Delivery

While I adore my little beach apartment, one of its few drawbacks is my mailbox. You see, there's an older couple who occupies the top floor of the house, leaving me the bottom floor. Joe and Laurie are generally quiet and friendly. Of course, if you accept Joe's offer of a Red Stripe beer, you could be subjected to an hour-long monologue tribute to his surfing days. And, yes, Laurie is one of "those" beach people who hangs a giant decorative flag from her porch, exchanging the banners out in honor of whatever holiday or season we are currently celebrating (my favorite to date is the pink flamingo which waved during my birthday in of July). But really, these things are more cute than annoying.

But because we do each rent a half of one house, we must share a mailbox. When I first moved in, Laurie had already designed a PC-printed label with our last names on it, laminated to protect against those seaside winds and complete with a beachy sunset background. I at first thought that sharing a mailbox might be an infringement on my privacy. And, granted, when the occassional issue of Undergear comes with that season's model on the cover - bare naked except for the latest purple, velvet thong - I am the least bit embarrassed. But I get over it quickly when Laurie's QVC catalogue comes.

Now, normally Joe arrives home around 3:30pm from his morning bread delivery job. So he gets to the mail first, sorting out his and Laurie's mail and leaving mine in a nice little pile, all ready and waiting for me when I get home. It's always worked out just fine. Until now.

Most of us absolutely never forget to check our mail. Even if we might only be receiving fliers from Rosa the local cleaning lady or that month's MasterCard late notice, it's still exciting to receive something, specially meant for you. But this particular week I'd been distracted. Having tried introducing Metamucil into my diet, I was, um...under pressure to get into my house quickly. So my mail went unattended for two days. When I finally made it to my mailbox, I found a little gift waiting for me. An official-looking envelope from what at first appeared to be a legitimate business called DILDO RENTAL CLUB. Apparently my KONG DONG RENTAL FEES!!! were DUE IMMEDIATELY.

Horrified, I grabbed my mail and ducked indoors as quickly as possible. I was furious with this company! I'd never done business with them and I couldn't believe they would put such statements next to my name in the mail! Now, if I'd have looked more closely I might have noticed that there were actually two return addresses on the envelope. And even disregarding this first clue, you'd think I would have thought about the actual concept a little more. I mean, who RENTS a dildo? Do they boil them in between lendings to ensure adherence proper sanitary guidelines? And if so, is there a Dildo-of-the-Month option where you can sample various textures, flavors and voltages?

But, no my brain didn't make it that far. I was enraged and fully intent on calling up this Dildo Rental Club located at 69 Cumming Group Circle and giving them a piece of mind. I ripped open the envelope and out fell a letter. A letter from a "good" friend of mine, Steve, wishing me a Happy New Year and asking oh wasn't his little joke so funny?

But he didn't know I shared my mailbox with my thus-far nice little neighbors. He also didn't know that since my return from Christmas vacation, I'd been hounding them for a package that they were supposed to collect for me while I was out. A package which they later found and handed off to me, being careful not to touch any small openings. Okay, maybe the package DID hold underwear within it...but certainly not a rented dildo! It was then that I realized they'd thought that, unbeknownst to them, an actual Kong Dong, possibly double-headed, had been sitting on their kitchen counter under a pile of newspapers for a week.

Needless to say, I've canceled my Undergear subscription and now have all packages delivered to my work address. And every day I come home surprised, yet thankful, to see my name not yet blacked out from having desecrated our cute little mailbox.