Not So Gravy

I don't know if I was more relieved or furious to receive this Polaroid in the mail this afternoon. This is the kind of sickness that I guess the perps pass off as humor that I've been having to deal with ever since the break in last month.


While our silverware, laptops, flat-screen TV, jewelry, and vintage 50's baseball card collection are probably long since pawned, that damned cow gravy boat that Janice's mother gave us for our wedding will haunt me till my dying breath.


So they do thousands of dollars of damage to our home. Breaking in, breaking up everything once inside. Stealing the valuables and destroying the sentimental. Then they keep the most annoying piece of triviality that we owned and continue to shove our noses in it. We've had pictures of the cow on the steps of the Supreme Court, at Mt. Rushmore, outside Dodger Stadium, grazing peacefully in a field of alfalfa. The latest: at this stupid fake farm.  


We need to move. The habitual reappearance of the gravy cow will be the end of me.