[ WP ] Take a normally boring activity , but make it sound exciting .

You stand in the doorway, with the open space of your living room at your back. Somewhere behind you, out of sight, Penny kicks her feet in her sleep. That dog always has active dreams. On any other day, you might sit on the couch with your feet propped up on your IKEA coffee table and record a video of her to be sent to your friends. Today, however, your destiny lies not on couch, not in your living room, and not in your house. Today you must venture through the door. 
 
 You flip the envelope over in your hands, looking once again at the address scrawled hastily across the back. Your handwriting really used to better, but who handwrites anything any more? Time to stop stalling. You take a deep breath and turn the knob, pulling the door open. An influx of air rushes past you, whipping about your shirt and pants, flapping the fabric. You feel the warmth of an early spring day, and smell rain on the air. It would be prudent to hurry; the weatherman said something about a supercell while you drank your morning coffee hours before. 
 
 You hop down the three stone steps from your door to the cracked sidewalk below, bending at the knee slightly. Above you, the familiar old water maple arcs gracefully skyward. You remember that the last time it stormed, really stormed, the winds were furious and they pulled thick branches from the tree as if they were straws being pulled from a loose fist. Best not to think about that. 
 
 As you make your way down the sidewalk, you come face to face with a fellow pedestrian. She ’ s a young girl, younger than you, with headphones in her ears and her head down. You awkwardly twist at the waist to avoid colliding with her as she strides past. She glances up at you for a second, before turning her gaze back down to the concrete below. Her music was loud enough to hear, and it didn ’ t sound good. You shake your head absentmindedly as you continue on. 
 
 At the street corner, an old Model-T catches your eye, along with the old man sitting inside of it. He looks enough like your grandpa that, when paired with the car, your mind immediately drifts back to days of deep summer, sticky with sweat, spent handing him tools in his garage. You decide to give him a call when you get back home. 
 
 You cross the street and narrowly avoid getting mauled by a man on a bicycle. You exchange angry looks, but yours fades instantly as you notice that he is comically too tall for his bike. He looks like what you imagine a frog would look like if it was training for a triathlon. 
 
 As you turn the final corner, in the shadow of an old townhouse with faded brickwork, you find it: your destination. Taking one last look at the envelope, you pull open the blue hatch and drop it in. You breath a heavy sigh of relief. It ’ s the problem of the United States Postal Service now, for better or worse. 
 
 As you head back for home, beneath the ever-darkening sky, you hope that your cousin doesn ’ t mind getting a $ 50 dollar Amazon gift card for his birthday. 

