It began with two sparkly Stars of David. Gold on the front of the mailbox. Silver on the doorbell. Gold didn't survive the night. Silver died of natural causes (loss of stickiness).
But Oh! How naive was I! I did not know at the time that those were the shots heard round the world! The assassination of Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand! But so it goes.
Then, alas! The snowflake. We all know how that ended.
Following was a hologram dolphin sticker (or what I always referred to as "holograms" as a kid: the picture changes as you move the sticker) on the mailbox. That lasted a couple of days, then was gone. A red star and perhaps another was placed on the mailbox and lost in about a week.
I suspected the mailman. I was clearly breaking some city ordinance.
A small white flower was the next to try it's luck. On the door frame. 3 days. This is not the mailman. It's clearly fat bitch. Or is skinny bitch. There's no way to tell.
Take this then girls: two purple foam hearts. On our neighbors window frame (they've had Admiral Ackbar on their front door since January). A couple days later, a purple smiling star in the same location. I think I've won. My rouse has worked! Fat bitch wouldn't dare pull down a sticker from another persons window frame.
What a sight then, was this morning. The carnage. Those poor purple hearts ripped so violently from their perch that some was left on the frame. And the star? No where to be found. Innocent stickers maimed as retribution for some hair [accidentally] left in the shower? What a cruel, cruel woman. Or perhaps it conflicts with her skewed sense of order and cleanliness. Or perhaps she simply hates happiness. Or finds my stickers and love notes from kindergartners insipid, simpering, and juvenile. Or maybe it's not her at all. Could my stickers be the victims of some unvoiced angst from my downstairs neighbor?
But then something unexpected happened: when I came home this afternoon, my valiant little star was waiting for me, carefully placed on the door handle. A brave soldier, he is back out on the front lines. After finding his companions (the purple hearts) ripped to pieces and balled up on the welcome mat (a threat, perhaps?), however, he may be relieved of his duties, and brought safely back to my room.
I'm not sure if he was there in a remorseful "I'm sorry I ripped down your stickers" way or in a "I found this sticker on the ground and know he belongs here" kind of way, but I'm glad he's back. And thankful for the mysterious stranger who brought him home.
