There’s a fellow who lives on my route who must be literally blind.

I suspect that he’s legally blind…but I’m not sure how deep it goes.

I think that it must be close to complete.

I don’t think that he sees very well.

He drives an old red Pathfinder that’s beat all to heck and wears huge Terminator shades while he’s doing it….sliding down the giant mudslide he and his few neighbors call a driveway to get down to the road for another adventure.

This post isn’t about his driving habits, though.

What this post is about is that he probably gets every Victoria’s Secret catalog they publish.

In his defense, I think they’re sent to his now deceased wife…but they still come to the house and he’s the only one living there.

That’s a lot of catalogs.

Now…in my defense…I notice all the mail that we get.

I notice the giant Fingerhut and Uline catalogs, too….

It’s hard to miss most of these catalogs.

You can’t ignore them….we get a bunch.

So what I’m saying is that, try as hard as the company might to get our attention, these catalogs that this fellow gets are just a small drop in the giant pile that gets processed by the mail handlers of the world.

It did make me wonder why he doesn’t just call and cancel them.

He can’t see them…why doesn’t he just cancel them?

It’s none of my business…I just needed something to write about this morning.

I did think about it a little, though….just to amuse myself.

What if he had some kind of nasty little helper monkey who would sit and, through the aid of a technology advanced beyond normal understanding, verbally describe every page of that Victoria’s Secret catalog to the old fellow?

That would be pretty darn weird….to me, at least.

I don’t see how it would work to get those catalogs, otherwise….

This little monkey, set up on his own little “nasty monkey stool”, with a stand like they have at the library for the really nice dictionary, his copy of the latest catalog propped carefully, describing each page while Mr. Terminator sits in the easy chair with a glass of pomegranate tea….

(squeaking monkey voice) PAGE FIFTY-FOUR….RECLINING ON THE SAND, SLIGHT TORSIONAL TWIST, CLOSED LIP SMILE….SEMI-PUSHUP POSITION….LITTLE DOTS AND OCCASIONAL SQUIGGLE….SMALL SUIT…ISLAND…IN THE DISTANCE, A BANANA TREE….BEHIND THIS HUMAN, A  BANANA TREE. I CAN SEE A BANANA TREE!! BANANABANANABANANANBANANA!!!!

I don’t think it would work, now that I think about it a little more.

Monkeys are too unpredictable.

You can’t count on a monkey to do a good job doing something impossible.

That guy probably shouldn’t be driving and he shouldn’t be getting all those catalogs.

And he should fire that monkey.

And I should get down off my high horse and stop acting like I have any right to tell that old fellow how to live his life.

I just don’t want to see him driving while he tries to listen to the monkey at the same time….

Mickey’s Monkey (Mother’s Finest)