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: Thanks, But No Thanks.

In which the internet decides I am having a shotgun wedding

I returned home from BarBri yesterday to find a package on my front doorstep.

Or, more accurately, my parents' front doorstep, as I made the exceptional life choice of living at home while studying for the bar. Apparently I value free rent and a growing garden more than my sanity, but that, friends and neighbors is a story for another day (file it under "I Told You So").

Anyway, the box was addressed to me, and I was a little confused at first--I certainly hadn't ordered anything, and the outside looked...unfamiliar. Still, my family and friends are notorious for box recycling, so that must be the problem, right?
Wrong. If it looks like a box full of baby formula, and it smells like a box full of baby formula, and it feels like a box full of baby formula...friends, Internetz, it might be a box full of baby formula.

The obligatory explanation as to how and why I ended up with a Costco-sized shipment of Similac should go here. But seriously---I have no idea. I am not pregnant, nor is anyone I know. The box was addressed to me. I have not been frequenting baby stores, or signing up for strange mailing lists. I have most certainly not been ordering baby related things online. In fact, the only thing that I've done in the last few weeks that would cause anything at all to come to the house is sign up for two wedding list serves, and change my address with the California Bar. I am relatively comfortable ruling out the Bar Examiners as culprits in this (they only take things from me, like money and sanity), so I'm blaming the Internet.

Not you, commenters, subscribers, and people with names---the nefarious and nebulous unknown "Internet" out there. The one who creepily adjusts my facebook ads and occasionally intervenes in real life in ways that make me want to run away and be a hermit. I am alternately creeped out (Help! The baby-food mafia knows where I live!), annoyed (WTF, guys, "married" does not mean "BABIES! START YOUR ENGINES!"), mortified (you try explaining to my very Catholic mother why no, you have no idea where this came from omg I swear I'm not pregnant, can we please stop talking about it now?) and horribly entertained. Because seriously? Baby food? Very funny, Universe.

This box is going to the local women's shelter---because creeped out as I am, I can't bring myself to throw it away without thinking that some poor child somewhere (whose family, presumably, the Universe does not so delight in taunting with ludicrous interludes the way it does to me), will need it (See: Catholic mother, above). I briefly considered using it as a contest prize, or shipping it on to some equally unsuspecting non-mother, but it just seemed mean spirited.

Still, if I get diapers next week: watch out, Fantasy ANTM participants. Someone's getting goodies in the mail.

Full post as published by Thanks, But No Thanks. on June 16, 2010 (boomark / email).