Going postal over mail

My good wife, affectionately known as Herself, must worry the postmaster general enough to keep him awake at night. We get more mail than many of the smaller states in this country.

As far as I am able to determine, Herself subscribes to every woman’s magazine published in the United States. Then there are the news magazines and a variety of other publications. For instance, she receives American Galvanized Pail and Early North American Tarpaper Designs. Don’t ask me. We not only don’t have any metal buckets, I don’t think there is so much as a shred of tarpaper around the place.

Of course, I get mail, too. Bills.

Herself even gets a magazine about books. Well, I can report that the woman reads so many magazines that there’s no way she has time for books.

And here’s the kicker. She is so obsessed, she subscribes to a magazine about how to publish magazines.

I get dizzy trying to catalogue the publications she receives.

Speaking of catalogue, Herself receives a mountain of catalogues. Not just for idle browsing. No, she studies them as if they were the Dead Sea Scrolls.

And she buys from them, adding to the load of stuff arriving each day.

The postmaster general finally decided to take action. He advised me in a registered letter that they are building a new distribution center near our house to handle the mail addressed to my wife. They’re hoping to have it completed before the onslaught of Christmas catalogues begin shipping. His letter also informed me that he is dedicating two 18-wheelers to deliver our daily deluge.

I guess that will help get the mail here. But then I have to deal with the mountain. If any of you know of a reliable used forklift for sale, please contact me. Our new mailbox is so big that I heard an echo when I walked into it the other day and uttered a bad word.

Loren Fairman is a freelance humor writer living in the Federal Way-Kent area.

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