Il Postino

Our postman hates me. It all started with a neon green paper in our mail asking if this was the correct mailing address for Brooke Lusk. Because I wasn't sure what time the postman comes, I hadn't filled it out when he came the next day. So he rang the doorbell. I saw it was him and quickly filled out the sheet and brought it to the door.

"So you're living here now?" said the Postman.

"Yes, I just moved in," I politely responded.

"Well nobody told me that," he retorted.

In a small voice I said "I'm sorry."

And that was that. Several days later I got a postcard from the library welcoming me as a new member. It was addressed to Lydia rather than Brooke. This must have really thrown the Postman for a loop. I was driving on a side street, coincidentally to open a PO Box, and the Postman waved to stop me.

"Brooke! Do you go by Lydia?"

"Well no. I go by Brooke, Lydia's my first name."

He waved his free arm wildly in the air, "Well now see I didn't know that!"

The Postman hates me. I brought this issue up with my roommate, and he laughed and recounted several similar stories to me that he had experienced. I felt better.

So please don't put any nicknames on any letters you might feel compelled to send me. He WON'T appreciate that.