Tuesday, January 8

I don't actually know what a soapbox is. Well: I can imagine that perhaps it is a cardboard box, emptied of the soap that it previously carried. Wait -- will an empty box support me? That seems less than sturdy. (Note: Let's use the internerds and figure this one out.)

Moving along. Here I am, up on my weakass soapbox to discuss the environment. No, no: not the weather. Jesus, I hope I can still discuss things other than the weather here. (Although, it has been nice -- and creepy -- to give my spring coat a mid-season spin these past few days.)

In a fit of a bizarre not-leaving-things-to-the-last-minute, I bought my mom her birthday present two weeks ago. (Her birthday is not until February. Late February. UNPRECEDENTED.) Earlier this week, her present arrived, and after you look at the picture above, you'll understand why I was confused.

That littler box there is her present. Not to give away any secrets, but it was about the size of a jewelry box. The bigger box? That's what it came in, stuffed in perhaps a tree's worth of brown paper. Red envelope: Thanks for helping me get a present earlier than the day before someone's birthday for the first time EVER. But this will be the last time I order from you, and your excessively packaging order fulfillment company.

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