Writing Starter #11

Dad takes his job as a packaging designer FAR too seriously.  Every couple of weeks, he shows up at our door in some new ridiculous getup.  

"Wouldn't feel comfortable shipping products in it if its not safe enough for humans!" he always says.  

I think he's crazy.  But that's what life was like on Birch Lane, in house 4950.  It was anything but normal.  

I carefully unraveled the plastic surrounding my father with a small box-cutter.  He collapsed onto the floor, still unconscious.  He would be up in a few hours, ready to enthusiastically describe the experience to a table of people dripping with apathy.