Ding. Dong.

Ugh. I was not looking my best. Yea, I was pretty much still in my jammies. But someone was ringing the doorbell, and I didn’t mind the break. I had been cleaning the upstairs area all morning. I ran to a window and peaked out. The postman was outside, his car still in the street and he was walking from the porch to the garage — I assume to see if there was a more direct way to get in touch with someone inside.

He was being persistent. I figured I ought to make an appearance, whether I was a scary sight or not.

I ran downstairs and opened the front door. I stepped out onto the porch to get his attention.

“Oh hey,” he said. “Are you…?”

“I am.”

“Didn’t you live here before? Like a year ago?”

“It was actually about 2 years ago now. But, yes. I did use to live here.”

“And you live here now?”

He was trying really hard to be expressionless, but I could tell that he was working at it. I could see the strain around his eyes and the almost-real sweat beads form on his forehead. It made me chuckle. I suppose government employees have to be as PC as possible.

“Yes. I am living here now. In fact, I will probably be here for the next year or so. Is there a problem with the mail forward? Should I follow up at the post office?”

(I love my mail. Even more, now that I am running a business. I didn’t want it to be messed-up, lost forever in the bowels of some North Carolina post office bin.)

“I’ll check at the office for you to make sure that you’re getting all your stuff. I noticed a notification come through, but I think there was a mix-up because there was some mail piling up. I will make sure to go through it and bring everything here,” this is where he started stammering. “Because, um, you’re here. I mean, you live here – again – now.”

I laughed.

“Yea. I’m just here to fix up the property. Let’s be straight. I am sure that you’ve noticed the disarray. I will be here until things are patched up and ready for an appraisal; and when that’s all done, I will move along.”

He looked at me, his eyes wide; and he forgot himself. He looked at the house, as if he could see the ex inside, and said, “Well, that must be interesting.”

I laughed again.

“You have no idea.”

We shared an openly amused grin as we looked into each other’s eyes.

“Good luck.”


“I’ve already stashed today’s mail in the box. I will bring the other stuff tomorrow,” he said as he got back into his car to continue his deliveries.

“Thanks again.”


Whether he’s sincere or just being nosy, I have a new fondness for my postman.