Yesterday I got a Christmas card returned. Yesterday, May 14. It was postmarked December 1. That’s a problem. For starters, Christmas cards a big deal around here. They are planned far in advance and mailed precisely on December 1. Where has this card been for the past five months?!
It shakes my unshakable faith in the post office. And I adore the post office. This is not my only issue with the mail. See, I’m throwing a party. It’s allegedly for my friend, but it’s really for me. I need to have a deadline to unpack the new version of the old house, and the threat of guests are about the only thing that will make me do it.
The pyschocrafter took over and I made the envelopes and it’s all ridiculous. But now, some of the people on the list are telling me they didn’t get the invitations. That obviously led to pacing and swearing and panicking.
And what I don’t understand is why the post office would turn on me this way. I love mail. I’m kind to postal workers. I enjoy stamps. I’m the best thing they’ve got going for them. They should hand deliver my parcels with joy. I think it’s clear, I’ve lost all perspective on the world.
And yet, I’m compelled to plead: Please, Mr. Postman, deliver de letters. De sooner, de better! (See now you’ve turned me into a bad version of Motown Act!)