A Novelty Dolphin Mailbox in Cocoa Beach, Florida Learns the Bad News About Global Warming
Rising tides leading to a mass extinction event? Not on his peninsula!
Wait, what? We’re going to be submerged? As in, under actual water? The little old Atlantic Ocean, which is a substantial five streets to your left, will soon flood my cul-de-sac? Oh, I see your little clipboard, but that information can’t be true. If danger were imminent, I would have been notified by the lady of the house, MS. PAMELA ROSE WILDE of 211 Pompano Drive. She is a serious and caring woman who sends out timely birthday cards, stays informed through many important periodicals including the delightfully au courant Us Weekly, and donates to many fiscally responsible non-profits which reward us with stickers every week. Someone would have alerted us!
How dare you try to tell me — a majestic yet kitschy dolphin mailbox who has been firmly cemented here in pride of place since 1992 — some cockamamie story about melting glaciers? My impenetrable, weatherproof resin has survived seven named hurricanes, three HOA regimes, and MS. PAMELA’s divorce from the oft delinquent MR. SCOTT P. WILDE in ’09. She fought for me in that divorce and I have served her nobly ever since. Know this: you will never gain access to Pamela’s ZIP+4 to trouble her with your climate change scam. Get off my xeriscaped gravel lawn!
This is awkward, because now that I have examined your data, I see what you’re saying. My bad. Okay, I hear you, some fairly substantial tides are coming. It’s pretty obvious Scott told you to punish Pamela with rising sea levels. He can’t stand it that she is happy in this house! But listen up, my friend. Mrs. Wilde just ordered some new jigsaw puzzle glue and a replacement bug zapper, both of which are going to cheer her immeasurably, so could you at least hold off the deluge for a wee bit? Let’s say half a generation? Or what if you cancel the whole hit and we give up free overnight delivery? We’ll do that immediately after this week’s meal subscription box arrives. It’s on track for Tuesday, Thai basil mahi-mahi! Pam and I can’t wait — be a sport and at least let us have that, and then we’ll quit with the reckless consumerism. You have my word as Dolphin King of Pompano Drive!
Never mind, it’s all sinking in. You are saying this rising-tides situation isn’t going away. And it just hit me, instead of waiting for the supply chain to cough up our box, I could have caught Pammie fresh fish right here at the shore, five streets to your left! Boy, is my gray resin face red. I now see my complicity in global warming and am duly appalled–and it’s too late, isn’t it? The entirety of Pompano Drive, my trusty mail carrier, my darling Pam…down we all will go, glug, glug. How am I going to tell my beloved lady?
I feel like I did when I accidentally read that disgusting letter and Starbucks gift card Scott sent to MS. JANA PICKENS professing his love and reminding her that he’d see her as soon as he could arrange business travel to Raleigh again. A gift card! Of course I gave it to Pamela. Please leave me to wallow alone in my pain like a lowly catfish, fin full of mud, my unkempt whiskers an affront to decent society.
No, wait. Before you leave, help me write a letter of my own. It goes like this:
Dear MS. PAMELA ROSE WILDE: If the sea levels are rising, so be it, we will rise with them! See me as I truly am: your faithful steed, your one true jet ski. Until I knew our world was ending, I was content to see you once a day. Your firm but gentle hands tugging the latch door, your soft gaze peering deep within my soul, your touch grasping all that I have to offer. But our time has come! I beg you — at long last, hike up your caftan, wrap your legs ‘round these velvet flippers and strap your hands across my blowhole. We gotta get out before the tide comes, ’cause scampi like us, baby we were born to run!
That should do it, am I right? And here’s my lady now, wearing her brand new Land’s End Scoop Neck Soft Cup in Paisley. By the way, based on your data, don’t you think you ought to head inland to be safe? I’ve heard Montana is nice. I recommend finding yourself a Novelty Grizzly Bear Mailbox to cuddle! Now that I think about it, an old friend from my factory days lives out there who will take great care of you. Hand me that clipboard and I’ll give you her address.
Deb Rogers is the author of FLORIDA WOMAN (Hanover Square Press, July 2022). She currently lives in the very haunted and very beautiful town of St. Augustine, Florida with the long-term plan of buying a humble cottage in the metaverse before the floods arrive. Find her on Twitter or Instagram at @debontherocks or at debrogersauthor.com.
