There was a delivery box blocking the front door. Anthony ordered a couple of bags (like the kind you sling over your shoulder and carry stuff around in) and they arrived a day earlier than expected.
I was under strict orders not to touch the box and if it came while I was home I was to send the delivery person to the apartment complex office with the package so Anthony could pick it up later. I am not to be trusted with $700 in bags (you read that right, two bags, seven hundred dollars... he lives large). Why would I be trusted? I would have a difficult time resisting the urge to use them to wipe my butt or wear one as a hat. That's the kind of person I am. Ahem.
I had a decision to make. I either had to leave the box outside in the rain and wind, or take the chance that Anthony would be angry that I touched it but bring it inside.
I decided to gamble and bring it inside. I put it on the highest part of the kitchen counter. It was wrapped in some plastic by the delivery company so I felt it had condom like protection and that protected the box from my grubby little paws.
I haven't seen these fancy bags yet, but for $350 bucks a piece they better do something besides hold things. Like laundry or sexual favors.
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| The box of bags I wasn't supposed to touch. I put some of Lucky's poo on the box as a surprise for Anthony. Shhhh. Don't tell him. |