THE MYSTERY MAILER

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 121

What do you say, who’s willing to play along with me and continue yesterday’s fun? If you’re currently scratching your head thinking, “Huh?”, then do yourself a solid and go read my 120th blog. I promise you’ll laugh and perhaps even snort a bit. Then, come back here. It’ll be much more fun, and I guarantee you’re going to get some laughs today too—or at least shake your head at my expense. Let’s begin!

Fill in the blank: You know you’re getting old when _____________________________.

Unlike yesterday, I’ve decided to deepen the mystery. I’m not making the title or the thumbnail a dead giveaway because that takes away the fun, and quite frankly, it’s a crappy thing to do. Pun intended? Maybe. What say you?

This Tuesday of Holy Week was about as "white bread and butter" as Monday. The only real difference is we aren't going anywhere tonight. We already purchased our brand-new pellet smoker, which is currently occupying a significant amount of square footage on the garage floor in its factory packaging. It’s essentially a very expensive, high-tech piece of modern art at this point.

Since the new guy isn't ready to fire up, I had to crank up Louise to 400 degrees so I could grill some chicken breasts for supper. As I type this, they’re cooling down so we can snarf down some "gourmet" eats in the form of a Chicken Caesar Salad. We're living the dream, folks.

But back to the blog. What did you come up with for your "You know you're getting old when..." answer? Here’s the story behind mine. Just after I started the barbecue, I marched down the driveway to grab the mail. One solitary piece of mail occupied that big black mailbox: an obscure, oddly shaped, brown envelope with an unknown return address. It was addressed to me, which is a small but vital detail.

I was totally baffled. I honestly thought I might have finally won the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes. Is that even still a thing, or did that die out with landlines and common sense? I wasn't sure if I should be excited, but the suspense was killing me. I had to find out who loved me enough to send a secret mailer. I tore into that thing like a fat-n-sassy kid in a candy store.

Lo and behold, it was our lovely federal government. Is your heart racing yet? Nope, it wasn’t the IRS, the FBI, or a notice to report to the Federal Bureau of Prisons. I assure you, I’ve been a good boy. It was actually our nation’s most deeply caring Veterans Affairs office telling me—in the most bureaucratic way possible—exactly how OLD I am.

The package was one of those "crappy" Cologuard-style test kits. You know, the generic version where the government asks you for a very specific, very personal DIY science project. My first thought, which I shared loudly with the room, was, “Yeah, I really don't want to do that.”

The wife naturally asked if I’d rather be knocked out and have a camera go up the... well, you know. Honestly, I had to think about it. The instructions in this box are a special kind of nightmare. But I suppose I better comply. I don’t need Beulah Balbricker from Porky’s Revenge showing up at my front door to enforce medical compliance.

In all seriousness, I suppose I should be thankful the government and the VA care more about my internal plumbing than I do. It would be a truly "crappy" situation for my family if I skipped the test and found out later that I had something treatable if caught early. I guess it’s better to "do the science" than to leave my family behind because I was too stubborn to play along with a brown envelope.

So yeah, today I’m thankful for this "gift" in the mail. It’s certainly quicker than the alternative medical procedures.

Father God, thank you for those who care about our health even when we’re being difficult. Bless all the medical workers out there, especially those in my own congregation who have to deal with snarky, aging patients like me.