My Mail Is Getting Rather Adult

When you are a kid you always want more mail. This is probably a reaction to the type of mail you receive as a child, invitations, cards and presents, an occasional magazine, perhaps. Then when you get ready to go to college you receive all kinds of colorful brochures, you get letters saying that you're generally awesome and they want you. You receive a few rejections for the same schools who said you were pretty nifty but you also receive an acceptance to keep you from sinking too low.

But recently my mail has turned very adult, no self-esteem boosting letters from colleges (though I did just get an offer letter which was a bit cool), no birthday cards, no birthday party invites (f u facebook for taking over mailed invites!). But I am getting more mail then I have ever gotten before. I get the occasional bank statement, credit card offers (not even good ones) and every once in a while I'll get a credit card offer from my bank.

Not to long ago though my adult mail became a tad more fascinating. I received two cans of formula from Similac. Then last week with my alumni donor pledge card (I won't be giving sorry JMU) I received a thick envelope from some university. I opened it being super curious about its content. It was a survey, they wanted to know about how I fed my babies, all kinds of breast feeding and formula questions. I tossed it, sad, not because I don't have any babies so the survey wasn't relevant, and confused because I don't have any babies (why do they think I am feeding babies?)

Maybe my mail is sent by my grandmother who I believe I have disappointed by not having babies yet at my old age. But more than likely the world has confused me with the other Megan Wiseman out there. The manager at my gym did (kind of, rather he recognized the name and not the face because I didn't go to high school with him because he is something like eight years my senior).

Oh. The joys of mail, come back to us!

A Note to the Mailman

I'm sure I shouldn't have to write this, hell, the fact that I am means that I should probably do it formally and send it to the local postmaster but that would take planning and a bit of research, I'm not into that today. But note that my earlier post today was done in haste, I've got a lot to do and not a lot of time, but this, this is something that had I been to my mailbox before I had posted would have fit in nicely with the title.

Dear Mr. Mailman (whose name I think is Dan),
     I want to thank you for delivering all the awesome junk that you deliver everyday (kind of). I love the pay stubs and mass quantities of duplicate Victoria's Secret catalogs, I love the adverts and the poorly written and considerably poorerly (I know) edited weekly local papers. I love those papers so much I read them and correct the spelling, grammar and syntax as I go. I know, I know I should have gotten the mail on Saturday when you left it in the box but at the moment with the spotlighting I'm not particularly comfortable walking to the mailbox in the dark. So today, Monday, I went to get Saturday's mail and upon opening the box find the more reputable local paper covered in blood.
     If you ever find yourself bleeding again while delivering mail, DO NOT WIPE YOUR BLEEDING FINGER ON THE MAIL, that is why God made clothing.
    You are disgusting. I do not know why you would think this is even remotely ok. I do sincerely hope there isn't a next time because instead of chucking the paper then I will return to your work places with it and hand it over to your boss insisting that for my safety you be fired. It might not be fair but normal people don't do things like that.

Thank you for your new appreciation for hygiene,
Megan