Well, my mailman must think I’ve really got problems.

And I suppose he’s right.

When I lived by myself in my little shitty apartment on Galloway Street, once upon a time, I had this very moody mailman. By moody, I mean, he used to leave notes in my mailbox (which I thought was against the law but anyway) that said shit like: “WHY DON’T YOU CLIP YOUR TREES. THEY ARE GETTING IN MY WAY.”

So I’m sure I made his day when I moved to the cool Putnam Apartments with Brad. He was still my mailman but at least there weren’t tree issues anymore. Or the “your sidewalk is full of snow and I won’t deliver your mail tomorrow” issues. Yeah. I didn’t shovel much back then. I was fat and lazy. Whatever.

Then I changed my last name when we got married and that apparently annoyed him. It made it “difficult” for him to keep it straight. Dude. If the first name is still “Jodie” and the address is the same, then maybe you can assume the mail is mine.

That’s just my crazy logic talking, I guess.

Even after all of this, I still left him a “USPS-approved” Christmas gift, and that asshole didn’t take it!

Well eventually we bought a house and moved the hell out of his “zone.” THANK GOD. I enjoyed uh….several months of postal bliss.

And now I’m baaaaaaaaaaack. With my maiden name. Plus mail still coming with my married name. From two forwarded addresses.

I’m pretty sure if Christmas cards never make it to me this year, it won’t be because they “got lost in the mail.” So if you don’t get one from me in return, it’s either because I never got yours or because I’m not sending them at all.