There are many quandaries in life, not least of all the quandary between a big rectangle and a little rectangle. These rectangles can be found on our post box. Presumably, this means there is one space for big mail and one space for little mail.
I love patterns, that is no secret. These arrive by mail to our humble abode, usually by Australia Post (Australia’s national mail carrier). Over the last few months I have found many articles of mail which appear to be far too small for the small rectangle, wedged indelicately. (There is the rectangle quandary). Seriously, I don’t expect our postman to have a degree in rocket science, and I am aware the man has feelings too (everyone has bad days, surely) but this appeared to be an ongoing trend. I found the envelope for one glorious Vogue Paris Original in a state akin to mangling by a dog. I breathed a sigh of relief that the sender had been careful enough to put the pattern between pieces of board. Vogue Paris Originals can cost hundreds of dollars. Imagine how nervous that makes one!!!
Some people might have complained at this point, but why cause a stir? I thought I’ll just politely ask him to pop larger envelopes in THE BIG RECTANGLE. I promise I could not have been more polite. This was done as sweetly as possible, short of offering the man on his motorbike a glass of lemonade. He did seem somewhat affronted that I was asking him to put mail into a different shaped rectangle, but I assumed that now that I verbally asked him, he might be kind enough to do me this small personal favour?
I am reminded, sadly of the Chevy Chase film, FUNNY FARM in which the postman drove a beat up truck and would curve ball their mail into the weeds with a wild cackle as he veered past their driveway, and sometimes into the pond. That is the kind of postman whose buttons you don’t want to push, if you know what I mean. In this case, my request was met with a failure to deliver any mail item beyond the size of a standard bill AT ALL. Our dear beloved postie had decided that this was a far more preferable option for him and instead requires me to go down to the local postal centre to collect… almost every day.
The bunch at the postal centre are a marvellous, marvellous crowd (and I say that sincerely, I really enjoy having a quick chat). But surely they do not need one frazzled woman in their line who has had to bundle her poor two month old into a stinking hot car and wait with the masses. Not once. But almost daily. Just because the postman a) can’t tell the difference between rectangles b) finds mail delivery taxing or c) didn’t find someone waiting by the postbox with a lemonade stand, a frilly dress and a parasol. This strikes me as crazy and unnecessary if not slightly petty on the part of our postal worker.
Ironically, my great grandfather was a postmaster in Tasmania in “the olden days” and my Dad had a part time job delivering the mail when he was in high school. He always humorously told the story about the lazy guy who didn’t want to have to go for a long walk and they discovered most of the mail from his run had actually been thrown up a hole in the ceiling of the postal building.. years later, bundles of mail were still being discovered behind logs. This story could still take a left turn and I feel somewhat nervous having now lodged a pending complaint. The thing is, the postman knows where you live! And the term”going postal” exists for a reason.
Today’s pattern is therefore an answer to the question “What to wear for the postman”? I am going to ask that question in the context of a 1950s mail scenario because in 2012, whatever one might wear is less likely to be smile-enticing.
Just remember, if you live in Aus and you see a lady with a crying baby in the line up, give her a break, she probably doesn’t want to be there either and would much rather be caring for her baby at home!