But it comes with a price.
On this particular Wednesday evening, I tasked myself to recycle not only my usual bag full of paper, but also a large, flat box I had filled with more paper that used to contain a Wal-Mart side table which required "minimal" assembly. (As the assembler, I now possess serious doubts against that phrase.)
The start of my journey was fine. I was, however, smiling to myself as I imagined how I looked to everyone as the "big box girl." My arms grew tired, but at least I had a good grip on my load...until the bag broke.
The comic situation is not that an obstacle happened; it's where it happened. And as fate would have it, my bag broke in the middle of the driveway leading to a bank's ATM. With two cars waiting on the ATM and one car wanting to pull in, I prayed no one would hit me in the three-minute interval it took for me to gather all papers and hold them in between me and this box.
With one more block to go, I am now waddling and hugging a box that I can't see around along one of the busiest streets in town. I now have no doubt in my mind I could be unnoticed.
So, if you saw a girl carrying a big box on Colonial and 22nd around 6 p.m., it was me. I have the papercut to prove it.
I swear...it could only happen to me.