Be Vewy Vewy Quiet...

Wascally mail carrier! Today I almost caught him at it.

I left the house this morning to make another trip to pick up undelivered packages at the Post Office, now a daily ritual. I have, since my last related post, received my costumes (the show opens tomorrow), but my mother has ordered things in anticipation of the coming Disneyland venture and its associated visitors and I have become the middleman in lieu of Postal Petey doing his job.

I checked the box before I left -- empty -- and returned within the hour after a prolonged search for a gas station. (Which begs the question: why do my taxes fill Petey's tank when I'm the one doing all the driving?) I decided to check the mailbox at regular intervals to try to estimate what time Petey-poo gets to our place each day. Boy, did I get lucky. At 12:30, I found him buried elbow-deep in mailboxes.

There's not much logic in what I did next, because I've been home every day and know he hasn't been traipsing to my door, but I ran to the apartment and waited. This time, there was no doubt that I was home and where I could hear the bell when he came. I had him.

I knew the doorbell wouldn't ring. Petey was going to pull his "Sorry I Missed You" trick again. When I was sure he'd gone, I checked the mailbox. Nothing but junk mail. No card? Petey knows I'm on to him.