I don’t like my postman. There’s just something about him I just don’t like. I don’t like the way that when he knocks and I open the door, he’s always halfway up the path. He knows that I am ALWAYS here, so why does he always feel the need to flee as soon as he’s rung the door-bell? I don’t like the way that he cannot seem to figure out that letter shaped items can be fitted through that letter shaped hole in the door and if he has anything larger than a standard envelope he has to knock. He can’t gently fold envelopes in half and post them that way…nooo, he has to knock. And when I open the door, he’s always halfway up the path as if I am the one who has taken ages to answer the door.
Of course, I could just be obsessing about the postman, but I miss our old, efficient postman. The one that DIDN’T post our credit card through a someone else’s door in a completely different street. It was only that person’s kindness that meant we weren’t victim to some horrible credit card fraud. Of course, this kindness is a favour that goes back to last summer when some naughty postman decided to post ALL of the post for that neighbouring street through our letterbox. We then became temporary post people that afternoon, returning errant letters to their rightful owners. Now that favour has been repayed, gawd knows where our post might end up next time.
Gee – I am gibbering.