Here's my list . . .
body fat, love handles, arm zits, mail, orphan socks, socks put in the laundry in inside out, sweaty, foot-linty balls, car accidents, pain, whiny kids, terrorists, judgement, martyrs (not in the religious context, but as in one with a martyr complex), bigots, dog poop, waking up to the smell of dog poop in your room, worse still . . . waking up and stepping in dog poop, broken appliances, mean people, animal cruelty, plugged drains, cystic acne, drought, famine, genocide, infanticide, the high price of adoption, ignorance, irresponsibility, dead fish, when bad things happen to good people, waiting for the third (as in "these things happen in three's . . . you have 2 car accidents under your belt and you dream of taking a bus everywhere to avoid the THIRD being YOU), travel plans gone awry, vacuums that smell like burning rubber, arsonists, molesters, the devil . . .
It's just wrong to take pictures of your arm zits or love handles for a blog post. Some of my list isn't really photograph-able and while I dislike dog poop, I don't hate it enough to not have dogs . . . so that was a short-lived rant. For the sake of this post, I have to concentrate on one thing . . . so . . .
There it is. Mail. I don't like getting the mail. Work mail . . . . means work, even though sometimes there are checks in there (which still means work). Personal mail rarely brings anything good. (* see exception) There is seldom anything really worth opening. The trees killed in direct mail marketing and catalog and magazine sales are ridiculous and actually make me feel a little guilty. The cost of stamps and postage is astronomical. Just holding the mail keys and marching out to the mailbox are chores, for me. I don't like leafing through the mail or sorting it over the recycling bin. I've received enough "bad" mail in the last few years to make me slightly mail-phobic. I sometimes leaf through it with my breath held, one eye shut and my head turned side ways . . . . like I'm bracing for impact. On particularly awful days, I open the mail near the bathroom, in case my nervous tummy actually produces. It's best to be prepared.
Exception . . . we do receive greeting cards here and there. Thank you, Aunt CB, for your always-on-time-and-never-late-every-occasion-greeting card. I'm not sure how you do it. We do love and appreciate those. They are a ray of sunshine!! Last year, I received the most wonderful card . . that was really nice .. .
But all in all, I think I've made my point. Aunt CB would have to mail 42 cards every day to match the volume of sheer crap in my mailbox.