This morning I had two packages to mail, one’s going to a gentleman on whom I have a wee crush and the other one was for work.

Now, Crushed Gentleman.  That’s your uncle, right? says the Post Office Lady.

No.  My only uncle without my last name is named Uncle.

That’s right.  That’s right.  Married your aunt who died, bless her heart.  A nice man.  He always had him a good head of hair.  Does he still have that pretty hair?

He does, yes.

So you’re sending packages to two different fellas?  Any of them to cousin or something?  One of them that new brother-in- law of yours?

No, but–

You must really get out a lot, all them boyfriends.

She pursed her lips and glanced at the woman behind me in line.

So.  There you go.   I think I may’ve just acquired myself a bit of a reputation by mailing cookies and church paperwork.

Hide your husbands, ladies.  I’m mailing out peppermint shortbread.

(Incidentally, I just realized I’m wearing the same bulky turtleneck I had on when a girl from church confronted me about dressing like a slut and corrupting her pervy husband several years ago.  Do thick cotton sweaters have some erotic potential that’s lost on me? )

A song for Thanksgiving:

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