Tuesday, August 10, 2010
I have often wondered why the mail lady treats me so strange and will never warm up to me. I've tried so hard to win her over, get a smile back from her, or keep her from speeding off as I exit the house to meet her at the mailbox.
Today as I was cleaning my desk, I realized why.
I make books for a living. Good, clean books sharing great truth through powerful storytelling. I subscribe to a trade magazine that arrives each month and helps me stay current on fiction.
While processing my unread mail, I picked up this trade magazine and started making observations. I noted that it comes wrapped in a dark blue plastic wrapper and because of that, you can't tell exactly what type of magazine is inside.
Upon closer examination of said wrapper, the only writing on it is my address and a small little label that tells the curious observer something about the hidden contents of the package. The label says it comes from New Jersey from an outfit that calls themselves Romantic Times.
I never thought much of it, but I suppose the mail lady could have the wrong idea about me, the type of magazines I get, and why I try so hard to get her to smile back at me. Seems I have some explaining to do.