I may have to kill my mailman.
So much of my life is in the mail right now, it’s actually funny. This “life” I speak of is really code for “money.” I received a check two weeks ago, thank goodness, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to buy D.W.’s birthday present. (It was a luxurious winter coat, in case you were wondering.) Other than that, there is nothing but dust and an occasional flyer from Comcast in my mailbox.
Well, actually, today I got one letter in my mailbox. It was open. There was a receipt for money, but there was no money. I’ll be phoning the editors tomorrow. I spoke to an editor today who told me that she has a check on her desk that has been returned to her — twice. Last week, another editor from another company hand-delivered a box of books that had not found their way to me after two attempts. She actually brought them to my house because she lives in the neighborhood.
Tomorrow, I may have to head the man off at the pass. I may have to wait and watch for him to deliver (or not deliver, as it were) my mail and say, “Mr. Postman? Do you hate me?”
Then I’ll explain to him my recent problems and kindly ask him to really “be on the lookout” for my mail, which is ridiculous since his job is, by definition, to be on the lookout for everyone’s mail and then, you know, give it to them.
Working in my own office brings great benefits, but I sorely miss direct deposit.
Attack, Stitchy! Attack!
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More posts of this quality. Not the usual c***, plesae
Wow, this is in every recspet what I needed to know.