Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. [bad word]  when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust, Pennsylvania. She had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity, she would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.

But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes. As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows [bad word] by liquor and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of ual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of ual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was they wouldn't understand how she really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there {Aaahh..}. The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished mowing and etching the Edelsons lawn for a dollar fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing more than a circular form the Amalgamated [bad word] of America inquiring into his awing needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New [bad word]  You could go anywhere in the mail. Then it [bad word] him, he didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, [bad word]  but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his built. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride [bad word]  few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks and it would probably be as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package Fragile, and as he sat curled up inside, resting the [bad word] cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marshas face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, then, maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself barne up. He landed with a thud in a [bad word] and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said that he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And, after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Billy could teach Waldo - but that seemed like years ago. Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. Oh, it's absolutely maudlin outside. Ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky! Marsha tightened her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her fingers and made a face. I'm supposed to take these salt pills, but she wrinkled her nose, They make me feel like throwing up. Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television. G-d, don't even talk about tha
t. She got up from the table and went to the sink where