Sitting in my mailbox are £200+ worth of tickets to a Rangers game taking place tomorrow, and a birthday card addressed to yours truly. Sitting somewhere under someone's bed, or perhaps in a garbage heap somewhere, is the key to said mailbox.
This is one of those times when I wish they taught more useful things in high school. Things like, how to pick a lock, say. Vastly more useful and applicable to my daily life than knowing when the Magna Carta was signed. Thanks to certain video games, I know how picking a lock works conceptually. But it's not like I've ever done it in practice.
Our mail box opens at the back without a lock (so the mailman can slip the mail in), and the gap is ALMOST wide enough for me to fit my hand in. I suppose on the one hand I should be thankful that it's not, but on the other, it's incredibly taunting to see a letter with my name on it and not be able to grab it.
Tomorrow, a locksmith is hopefully coming before we have to leave for the game. If not, I'll just find some small child or someone who can fit their hand in the back, or some brawny scottsman who can just break off the stupid lock. I want my birthday card!
Happy Birthday!!!!!
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