Are you worried about the Writer’s strike? Not me, buddy… I’ve got my mailbox.
You know, that dumpy 40 year-old black metal box at the end of the driveway? Mailbox? The thing into which my Federally-sanctioned mail carrier typically inserts the mail I love (paychecks, magazines and the occasionally mis-delivered Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog) and mail I do not love (bills, bills and bills). But lately, our mail carrier (let’s use a little creative license here and call her “Betsy”)…. Betsy has started bringing me the most unusual mail for the past week or so and I must confess that I’ve become quite hooked.