I hope the neighbors didn’t see me punch our mailbox.
On this day the solid black box, accented with its red arm and gold letters identifying it as belonging to Jennifer and me, served as a tangible representation of my Multiple Sclerosis.
And he had it coming.
OK, so I didn’t really punch it. I guess it was more like a smack. It was a my way of nonverbally saying, “So there! Take that, ya thug.”
For as much as I hope the neighbors missed my pseudo-mailbox beating, I pray they didn’t see me crying. OK, so I wasn’t really crying. I guess it was more like a...