I didn’t think it was possible to not get any mail. For as long as I can remember, as long as it wasn’t a Sunday or a holiday, my mailbox has had something, even if just a grocery store circular or yet another piece of we-can-refinance-your-mortgage junk mail. But the other day, there wasn’t a thing in our mailbox. And I know the mailman came, because we had outgoing mail that had been picked up.
I thought that either a.) somebody had lifted our mail, or b.) he had put the mail under the mat on our porch and it blew away. But the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that we actually didn’t get any mail.
Why an empty mailbox consumes my mind like this, I don’t know.
Posted in Everyday Life