I checked the mailbox when I got home, as I always do. Inside there was a stupid recipe catalog. Not a cool one with tasty pictures…a boring one with tiny unsavory photos.
There was also a bank statement for my husband. On the envelope was some handwriting. I glanced at it, couldn’t figure out what it said, and went inside and dropped my bags, got cozy, and settled in.
After a while, I went back to grab the envelope and put it in my husband’s pile-o-papers. It is plentiful. I looked at the writing again, determined to figure it out.
The date. Obvious. Driveway? Strange. IC4? What the fuck does that mean? Must be a postal term for something that I don’t care about.
No, wait…it says ICY driveway…and the date. What the fuck? I know it’s icy. I didn’t shovel the driveway the other day when it snowed…and then it froze. Whatever. Does the post office know that my husband is out of town and I’m pulling all this family shit together by myself?
Do they know that the garbage men also walk up the driveway and don’t leave me notes if it seems a bit slippery?
Do they know that I’ve slipped on it too? That I have no salt to offer them to melt the ice? That I’m on super tight budget because, again, husband is away and I’m on single parent duty?
I never even realized they have to walk up the driveway to deliver the mail. I seriously only thought that I was leaving it slippery and treacherous for myself. And now I feel bad.
Especially since this post person took the time to pause and get out a pen and write it on the envelope in my mailbox.
Yikes. I should slip some leftover Valentine’s candy in there or something.