Sadly, we have no Mr. McFeely, bringing the mail right to our door.
Instead, we have a locked mailbox at the end of the street.
Consequently,
[call me lazy]
we don't get to the mailbox on a daily basis.
And so, it makes for quite an event when we actually do make the trek down the street and back.
You will note we each have a designated pile, as follows:
A.
B.
C.
Exhibit A.
Janie hand-shreds our junk mail.
[It's not child labor. It's just going green.]
Exhibit B.
my pile
bills to be paid, statements to be filed and grocery ads that I think I might look through (but that I really know I never will).
This pile will now be put away for another day as I am completely spent after opening all that mail!
Exhibit C.
Jason's pile.
Accompanied by a brief moment of feeling like I am married to a 10-year-old trapped in a man's body.
I know, I know, just young at heart... right, right.
Photo of Mr. McFeely & Mr. Rogers from The Neighborhood Archive, A Collection of All Things Mr. Rogers
Instead, we have a locked mailbox at the end of the street.
Consequently,
[call me lazy]
we don't get to the mailbox on a daily basis.
And so, it makes for quite an event when we actually do make the trek down the street and back.
You will note we each have a designated pile, as follows:
A.
B.
C.
Exhibit A.
Janie hand-shreds our junk mail.
[It's not child labor. It's just going green.]
Exhibit B.
my pile
bills to be paid, statements to be filed and grocery ads that I think I might look through (but that I really know I never will).
This pile will now be put away for another day as I am completely spent after opening all that mail!
Exhibit C.
Jason's pile.
Accompanied by a brief moment of feeling like I am married to a 10-year-old trapped in a man's body.
I know, I know, just young at heart... right, right.
Photo of Mr. McFeely & Mr. Rogers from The Neighborhood Archive, A Collection of All Things Mr. Rogers
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