Marty is here right now

Sometimes gods work in mysterious ways. I had to work from home today, while the world continues to spin, my particular world is spinning in a different direction.

So I have everything set up in the bright red dining room, my latop on the table, an external hard drive that contains the latest project that I am working on and a large pot of freshly brewed Vivace Coffee, express mailed to me this morning from a dear friend in the nations capital, Seattle.

So the doorbell rings, which is strange, because we have lived here something like 12 years now and the doorbell has never worked, or no one has tried it, either way, for 12 long years it has been silent.

Then this. I look up and there is a man in a uniform, which could mean a variety of things, but in this case, it looked to be an overnight delivery. I was wearing pajama bottoms and one of my wifes old teddies, no comment, I was working from home so I took advantage of the relaxed dress policy inherent in the working from home rules.

I answered, he handed me a clipboard, I signed and he pushed a fairly large box through my doorway, smiled, said have a good day and turned. I said, what is this, and he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Marty".

With the front door shut I think I did what any right minded American would do in such a situation, I opened the box. Out sprang Marty, a 200 pound gorilla, or orangutan or something. Large, furry, exotic and kind of adorable. He jumped from the box, to the floor, springing into the living room, hitting the couch sideways and jumping onto the loveseat, stopping just long enough to pee, then he ran into the dining room, where my laptop was set up with an external drive so I could work from home, he raced through there, around the corner, into the kitchen and back into the entryway.

I called out Marty and he stopped in his tracks. He cocked his head over his shoulder and looked at me. I looked back at the box, grabbed the delivery information and walked into the dining room. Marty sheepishly followed me and stood next to my indoor hibiscus. As he stood watching me, I read the delivering information for the package that once contained Marty. I knew there must have been a mistake, because even tough sometimes I forget how I found myself in the bread section of the local grocery store, I certainly remember when I order 200 pound gorillas.

There is was, an address nearly identical to mine, except for 3 numbers of 14 letters. I called the delivery company and they acknowledged that some of their crack addicted drivers sometimes make small mistakes, and that in cases like that they offer two options, I could keep the package, in this case Marty, a pooping (in the corner while I write this) and peeing gorilla of some sort, or, B, within 10 days they could send a new box and a retrieval agent to pick up Marty.

Marty was painting on the dining room wall with his feces. How could I resist. I hung up the phone.