darlene, popo, and porn

i'm fairly certain i performed a felony this morning - and i feel like a horrible and dirty person for doing it. i was sorting through my mail and noticed an unfamiliar handwriting with the envelope clearly addressed to "darlene, popo, and porn".

here's where i began my slide down the slippery slope. my address is 9227 and upon closer inspection you can see that the handwriting could be interpreted as either 9227 or 9229 (its intended destination). by its shape, it was most likely a run-of-the-mill thank-you note and the postage stamp had been transplanted from a red envelope and glued onto this one.

which told me that:
1. the sender was either a cheap miser or

2. a maverick. not caring if the postal service accepted the postage or not. she had done her part.

taking all this into account before my conscience had a chance to object, my curiosity savagely ripped it open and i read the contents.

"Thank you doesn't begin to describe how grateful I am for all that you did at my party. You all were so hel[p]ful to me and you really got me through one of the most difficult nights of my entire life. I love you guys!"

and it's at this point that my stomach sank and i felt ill. it wasn't just a casual thanks for a toaster or a target gift card - darlene, popo, and porn had changed this woman's life forever.

now as this defiled note sits on my dresser, my neighbors are left wondering if this woman is even grateful for all they did for her.

"would it have killed her to send a thank-you note?" darlene will no doubt bitterly internalize as she pours herself a cup of coffee at 9229 walnut street.

so, now i'm left in an awkward position. do i just throw the whole thing away and leave them thinking this woman is ungrateful and selfish? or do i return it to them? that's the tricky part. if they catch me sneaking up to their front porch and putting the envelope in their mailbox, they'll know for sure what happened. in which case i'll have myself some freshly slashed tires and/or prison jumpsuit.

i'll have to be more covert. wait until nightfall, casually go for a stroll, haphazardly huck the envelope onto their lawn, and sprint back inside my house before anyone notices what's happened.

the next morning they'll see a mangled envelope on their front lawn and spend the next four days puzzling over what possible circumstances could have brought it to them in this condition. was it a wild animal? are those teeth marks? have we done something to upset our mailcarrier? is this some sort of gang-initiation?

as i crouch, nervously peeking through the slats of the venetian blinds in my room, i'll have the satisfaction of knowing i did the right thing.