Why run with the crowd when you can run around in circles?

Saturday, November 15, 2008


My cottage was once the guest house for the big main house. Yes, I live in that kind of neighborhood. I try to be real quiet so no one notices that there’s such a poor person among their greatness, despite the fact that my aged Escort stands out among the German car contingent surrounding me, especially with no three car garage to hide it in! Anyway, the main house, located on a corner, has a different address on a different street from my cottage. When I lived here three years ago, mail addressed to me landed in my mailbox without fail. And mail for my landlords was almost always placed in their box. This time, however, since I moved in on Sept 15, my landlords and I have played trade the mail almost daily.

What am I to think, except that it is comforting to know that handicapped people are being given jobs. Those who can’t read, can’t see, don’t care, or any combination thereof, are now behind the wheel of a vehicle, delivering sensitive material from door to door, even if it is all the wrong doors!

Okay, so mass quantities of what they deliver is wood stove fodder, but still, it’s my wood stove and I can always use extra paper to get a fire going.

At least I now have a great excuse for paying bills late. On Wednesday morning, I put the cable bill, the electric bill, and the rent check in the mailbox, with the flag up. It’s all still in there, four days later. I suppose it’s hard to make out the mailbox in the cluster of others that surround it on this quiet, dead end street, a street that has a total of twelve houses widely scattered along its quarter mile length.

And in the time that the mail has been sitting there getting soggy, waiting for someone to come and get it, my landlords have brought over three pieces of mail on three separate days, with my name on it, clearly marked 81 W, not 41 G. I am seriously considering making a flag out of my glow in the dark red underwear to see if that gets anyone’s attention!

I know who is going to get the Christmas tip for mail delivery this year, and it ain’t gonna be the person with the mail truck who has only to lean out the window to drop stuff in my box. It’s gonna be my patient, long suffering landlords, who have to trudge that long distance across the large lawn, including wading through the construction mud puddle, to bring me my mail.

And yes, I greatly appreciate that this is all I can find to bitch about at the moment. Life is good, despite two weeks of rain!

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