I forget sometimes that there are other people watching me grow up.

[maneeshtiwari]

The mailman, for instance. He's been our mailman probably as long as we've lived in this house, and that's my entire life. I used to say hi to him all the time when I was little, asked him questions, talked to him about things children talk to mailmen about. He was parked in front of our house, getting out to put our mail in our mailbox when I

Comments

[junkf00d]

is he a ginger?
the mailman for this neighborhood is a ginger

[maneeshtiwari]

Negative. Brunette, I guess. He's always got it buzzed, and he has a hella receding hairline. Usually has a bit of scruff on his face. Can't be more than forty. He looks younger than that; I originally had thirty-five typed, but that would mean he'd have been a mailman when he was at least twenty. Maybe younger. And that seems weird to me. I don't know. But he's cool.
Also, rereading this post, I realized there's no way he could have forgotten my name, even if he wanted to. He's the fucking mailman. He sees our fucking mail. Mail with my fucking name on it. My dad's name certainly isn't Rachel. And the cat probably isn't getting a lot of college correspondence.
I, too, know that "a lot" is two words. But I didn't find this out until probably three years ago. One of those awful, mind-blowing instances.

[junkf00d]

p.s.ilikedthisentryalot

[junkf00d]

p.p.s.iknowalotistwowords