I would say it’s a running joke between our offices, but it wasn’t ever very funny to begin with. For almost two years now, every time I wander downstairs to get the mail, the school receptionist asks me if her million dollar check was misdelivered to our box.

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha….

For first 365 days I managed to hold my scorn down to manageable levels by telling myself that yes, I have my “lottery” dreams, too. Mine are called “adult commercial fiction.” I told myself, even I have my pet phrases. I’m the one who delights to tell you “See you next year,” in late December, for example….

Yet even I know when a joke isn’t working. When the comic relief falls flat on its face for a couple Christmases in a row, maybe it’s time to get new material.

Sadly, today the receptionist asked me again about her check. I was doing my best to hide behind the plastic potted plant and then swing low, key outstretched, to open my mailbox. To no avail.

“Did my million dollar check come, yet?”

Please, Harper Collins, get me away from this monkey business. I seriously can’t stand to let this lady down for yet another day….