The Box

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• December 31, 2023

One day, I was staying at my sisters house out on Long Island where I frequently visit to hang with my awesome nephew and adorable niece and a box showed up at the front door. Of course, it’s not unusual for boxes to show up at any door, especially an Amazon box considering my sister’s Amazon addiction is slightly worse than my own.

Lisa, my sister, had not remembered what she ordered, but then again, she often forgets what she orders. Upon further inspection, while address was indeed hers, the name on the box was the name of someone none of us had heard of before. So, we had a mystery on our hands.

Being a Mom, Lisa is in various ‘mom forums’ on Facebook and her initial suspicion was that it belonged to someone on the block, though she did not recognize the name. When no one claimed in there, I suggested we just open it. And keep it! This is Amazon. Whoever ordered this will just get another one. Let’s open it. Open it. OPEN IT. THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME. WHAT IS IN THE BOX.

Lisa didn’t cave to her (or my) curiosities so easily. She took to the internet, researching street names that matched her own in different towns. She was really Sherlock Holmes’ing the situation while I was shaking the box wondering what it could be. It was a decent sized box. Nearly one foot by one foot. But it was very light. What could it be? WHAT COULD IT BE?

In her investigation, she found that there is a street in Brooklyn and address that mirrors hers in Port Jefferson. Behold, the name of the woman at that address matched the name on the box. While my sister pat herself on the back for her detective work, I quietly seethed, because at this point, I needed to know what was in that box. I didn’t want to see the box go. Don’t take this away from me. Life doesn’t have enough fun mysteries, and I wanted this reward, though not something that was my right nor something I deserved.

Well— I was about to get my wish. My sister contacted Amazon and they told her to keep it. With great anticipation we got to open the box. What’s inside. WHAT’S INSIDE.

She gets the scissor.

Cuts the tape.

I’m practically salivating at the surprise.

We open the box.

And…

It’s of box of loofah balls. Small, cheap, tri-colored (purple, blue and green) loofah balls. Dozens of them.

We both looked at each other, equal parts disappointed and confused. Who orders six dozen loofah balls? Why? Is it a bad party favor? Or is this woman just really obsessed with loofah balls but only uses them once?

“What are you going to do with them all?”

“Keep them, I guess,” my sister said.

“It’s like a lifetime supply.”

“Maybe the kids will use them. Do you want some?”

“I mean, not really. But sure,” I’ve always accepted free stuff, even when I don’t want or need it, but that’s what happens when you grow up without money and then you’re also an adult without money. Whatever is free, just take it.

And that’s how after that sleep over I went home with a backpack half full of loofah balls. There’s a lesson in here, somewhere. I’m not quite sure what it is. Maybe it’s something like, “when life gives you a box of loofah balls, be grateful it wasn’t a box of moth balls instead.”