You don't really care. I know.

One of the most
exciting things that can happen to me now that I am no longer based in England
is mail. This is for many reasons:

1. Post making its way all the way from
another country to my actual address in Rome is a magical occurrence, because
75% of international packages get misplaced in this godforsaken
infrastructure-less country and never make it to where they are supposed to be
going. Arrival alone is success.

2. When post does arrive, it has a big
picture of Jesus on it, because sticking big religious pictures onto a delivery
for a godforsaken infrastructure-less CATHOLIC country is the only guarantee
that said delivery will arrive. As my Dad tells the woman at his post office,
“Because you see, nobody fucks with Jesus.”

(Also: Yes, I am aware of the irony in
calling a Catholic country Godforsaken but like duh. WELCOME TO MY LIFE. Italy
IS a mass of contradiction because nobody filed the paperwork properly. They
were having cappuccino.)

3. Deliveries are only ever from Mum and
Dad, and that normally means either chocolate, or deodorant with
anti-perspirant. Because Italy doesn’t put stuff to actually stop the sweating
into their deodorant, only pretty stuff to make you smell nicer. A good idea
until you’ve been on the metro in August. Then, evidently, somebody needs to
devise a new strategy because the only thing worse than humming body odour?
B.O. DISGUISED WITH THE FRAGRANCE OF SWEET CUCUMBER.

Urm, and that’s pretty much the end of my
list on why receiving mail is awesome.

Anyway.

The last package I received from my
parents was my winter coat last November. It’s a big sleeping-bag type thing I
bought for my time in Michigan, but never anticipated needing in the
Mediterranean. I was wrong. Rome is cold in winter. WHO KNEW. Mum and Dad had
rolled the warm coat of AWESOME down so small it squished up to fit into a
shoebox, and when I got it I ripped it open, cast the coat aside, and then
turned the box upside down for the note or the chocolate or the treat to fall
out. Because nobody sends a package without a little something extra, right?

WRONG.

THOSE BITCHES DIDN’T EVEN PUT IN A
LETTER. I checked every one of the 345,973 pockets on the thing, thinking to myself,
well yeah- Mama Janie is pretty
unsentimental, but surely Dad has left me a note in a secret compartment
SOMEWHERE.

Nope.

So when I emailed them to ask for three
tubes of Boots exfoliant and a deodorant stick I was expecting exactly that and
emotionally, I was prepared. Things to
remember about my family: They send rubbish packages, will never come visit,
and make me laugh harder than anybody else ever invented. Also: my parents
have no sense of balance. And so we went from my winter coat containing no
trace of love, to an incorrect ONE
tube of exfoliant, THREE deodorant sticks, 3 Cadbury Cream Eggs, two Chomps,
Three Fudges, a packet of giant buttons and a note from dad that said,
‘Something to occupy you when you are on Skype,’ which to be quite honest I’m
not even sure I understand but I think was supposed to be a gesture of love.

To conclude: I didn’t really get what I
wanted, but I will temporarily have smooth skin, never need to buy deodorant
again, and have all the Cadbury I need to get me through this cold weather and
possibly even until I leave this town.

So overall? WINNING.