and the radio man says rock n roll lives

Have I mentioned lately that I have a giant crush on the Postmaster? Well, I don’t think he’s officially a postmaster. That’s just what I call him since he works at the post office.

Today, I had to hobble on down to the post office to pick a package. Really, seeing that orange, ‘We have a Package for You’ slip in my mailbox when I get home is sweet, sweet torture. I am most impatient and usually by the time I find that slip in my mailbox the post office is long since closed. So I have to wait the whole night, wondering what it could be waiting for me at the post office.

Anyway I skedaddle off to the post office this morning, giddy with anticipation. When I get there I am greeted by the lovely visage of the Postmaster. I just love him. I haven’t the foggiest clue how old he is, I am guessing late 40s, early 50s. He’s tall, almost my height, and mostly all the way bald. But his voice is just dreamy. It’s like spooj inducing wonderful, his voice.

I run up to the counter with my orange slip in my hand.

‘Good morning,’ the postmaster said in his yummilicious voice.

‘Hello!’

‘What can I do for you this morning?’

‘I have a package,’ I said excitedly like a 4-year-old.

‘You do?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, you must have been a good girl,’ he said and all I can think is just how naughty I could be if he really wanted to see it.

He comes back with a giant box for me! Yay! And then we make more small talk that I can’t remember as I buy some stamps. At this point my curiosity about the box has overridden my lust for the postmaster.

I skip outta the post office and ski down the handicap ramp to my car. The skiing was not on purpose, it was just so slippery that really it was much safer to slide, than to walk.

Once in the car I try to tear open the box. Only thing is the box is taped up like Fort Knox or something. Crap! But then I remember that somewhere in the rubble of the backseat is the tool-kit I won at the Farnquist Benefit many, many moons ago.

I wrestle the utility knife from its yellow sarcophagus and commence to cutting the box open. Finally it gives and I pull out newspaper, my present is wrapped in bubble wrap and then wrapped in wrapping paper.

Will I never get to open this present??

Of course, being the uber responsible adult that I am, I open and read the card first. Finally! I tear open the wrapping paper and in my hands is this elegantly framed color print of my amazon caricature from backwash.com.

It rules! So as I am sitting in the car with this rather racy cartoon in my lap. I wonder if maybe I should have opened the package in the post office and shown the Postmaster and then maybe he would have asked me out on a date. Damn! I miss all my good opportunities.

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