This is the saga of a wayward birthday card.
It all began last week when I was so proud of myself for remembering to buy my friend’s card early so I could mail it to England in plenty of time for her birthday.
[Elaine, if you’re reading this, stop immediately and go have some tea and crumpets or visit the Queen.]
I knew it would take at least a week, maybe two, for the card to get to London, where she lives with her handsome husband and adorable son.
[Okay, Elaine, you really must stop reading now. Go put your wellies in the boot of your … car.]
I picked out the perfect card, wrote the perfect message and put it in the perfect envelope – then tucked it in my purse where it sat for days as I kept forgetting to put it in the perfect mailbox.
Today, I even had it in my hand as I went out for lunch so I wouldn’t forget. I forgot.
So imagine my horror when found the envelope had leapt back into my purse at the end of the day. And today was the last day to get it in the mail if it had any chance at all of getting to London by her birthday.
So this afternoon, I was on a mission to get it in the mailbox. Unfortunately, by the time I found one, the pick-up time posted was 5:00 p.m. and it was already 5:15. I couldn’t wait another whole day. I kept walking.
Next mailbox, same thing. And the next, and the one after that.
Then, as if by magic, a postal truck appeared before me – well, on the opposite corner, anyway. Steam rose from the pavement near the exhaust enveloping the vehicle – I thought it was some sort of mirage at first.
But no, the truck was running and the postal worker had emptied the mailbox and lugged the overstuffed mail bag into the truck.
I bolted across the street and ran like a gazelle in heels to the open truck.
The driver’s seat was empty — he was still in the back. I stood there waiting, clutching the card and trying to catch my breath.
The driver appeared, a sandy-haired fellow.
“Can you take one more,” I smiled, handing him the card.
“I’ll take it but have to go for dinner,” is what I heard him say.
So I replied with, “Sure, you’re entitled!”
He looked at me with a puzzled expression as he took the card. It was only when I walked away that I realized he’d said, “If I take it, we’ll have to go for dinner.”
I stopped in my tracks. He’d been flirting with me? I almost went back to ask him just to be sure … Not really….
If you’re still reading, Elaine, have a very Happy Birthday!
If you’ve had a similar experience sending off birthday cards… especially to the Queen … I’d love to hear about it!