Dear Mr. Postman

Dear 7-Eleven,

My sister has lived near you for a couple of years now, and frequently extolled the glory of your proximity.  I was all, yeah ok great totally! 7-eleven! abso-wonder-lutely.

Now I live half a block from one of your glorious locations and oh! 7-eleven! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING. My neighbors call you “the pantry” and for good reason.

Cold drinks. Beer. Wine. Cereal. Juice. Brown Sugar. Condoms. Firewood. Magazines. Marshmallows. Chips. Salsas. Crackers. Cheese. Milk. Eggs. Doughnuts. Donettes. Coffee. Cream. Batteries. Tape. Paper. Notebooks. Granola bars. Gummy bears. Gummy worms. Bananas. Chocolate milk (oooh). Hot dogs. Cream cheese. Scissors. Peanuts. Flashlights. Sunflower seeds. Candy bars. Pretzels. Little clippy thingies. Ice cream. Ice cream sandwiches (helloooo).

You see my point. You must concede my point: you are fantastic. You even have a redbox DVD rental for $1 a day now. HEY-O.

I do have one question though– can you explain why, every time I walk in your doors, I must look at everything? Even when I know very specifically what I want and I’m late?

I am never going to buy one of those hot dogs. Why must I walk by and look at them?

That’d be great. Thanks. Otherwise, keep up the good work.

Blessings,

MM

PS– Maybe you could start stocking rice? I mean, only if you want to. It’s cool if you’re too busy being awesome.

PPS– I know I didn’t list Slurpees. It’s because I don’t like them. Leave the pitchforks at home, please.