There was a time when getting mail was exciting. Maybe it was a handwritten letter, a glossy magazine, or if you were lucky  a package from a friend. Now? The mail has become a bit of a roulette wheel, especially if you’re an online shopping enthusiast like me.

But this week’s story out of Kentucky takes the “surprise delivery” to a whole new, uh limb.

A poor woman expecting her usual shipment of medical supplies instead received a box of human body parts. Yes, you read that right; arms and fingers. Not prosthetics. Not Halloween props. Actual body parts. The coroner himself confirmed it (and you know the day has gone off the rails when the coroner has to make a press statement about your Amazon delivery).

Apparently, the box was intended for “surgical training” and just happened to end up on her doorstep. Which really makes you wonder how does that happen? Does the mail carrier not question the box that feels like it has elbows?

I’d love to say I can’t imagine it, but honestly, in this era of endless shipping labels and porch deliveries, I sort of can. I order a lot online.  And I mean a lot. Once, I received a freshly made grand strawberry shortcake cake under the cover of darkness. It was left on my doorstep at 11 p.m. with no note, no explanation, just the silent promise of diabetes. When I tried to return it, the bakery told me they couldn’t take it back because it was perishable. So naturally, I did what any rational adult would do. I ate it while mildly suspicious of poison.

Another time, I got two cases of Poland Spring bottles I never ordered. Which was weird, yes, but at least they didn’t have fingerprints. Literally.

All this to say. I now open my mail like it’s a high-stakes bomb squad operation. Scissors ready. Gloves on. Slight squint of distrust. Because who knows anymore? Maybe it’s my package of vitamins. Maybe it’s an arm.

The modern world has made shopping so convenient that the absurd feels normal. Drone deliveries? Sure. Grocery bags that text you when they’re on your porch? Fine. A box of detached body parts? Give it a tracking number and we’re good to go.

So here’s my advice.  Next time you hear that familiar thud on your doorstep, pause. Take a breath. And remember,  it’s not paranoia if you’ve read the news.