Her new man has wheels and big ones! He courteously parks them on the far side of her lawn each night so as not to pull focus from the lonely car still for sale on the corner of her estate closest to my house.
A few evenings ago, I was nearing my driveway when I spied a small Bobcat tractor crunching along the street toward me. As it got closer, seated in the tiny cab I spied Honeypot, bundled up like the Michelin man clinging to her new fella. He deposited her at the front door and this enchanting vignette ended with a frosty kiss before he headed back out, presumably to search for other souls in need of a man with a machine. It's tough to say if the bigger growl came from them, me, or the tractor.
I might have been happier at the end of this day had there been any mail. My mother had called the week previous to say she'd sent me some of her homemade maple fudge. The usual protocol after receiving it is for me to call, say how good it is, listen to her warn me not to eat it all at once and for me to pretend this hasn't already happened.
Depending on the motivation of the post office, packages usually arrive from the other side of the country within 2 to 4 days. By day 6 when there was no sign of my sugary treat, I declared the letter carrier a thief and hoped he was suffering at the hands of his dentist. On day 8, my mother called and ranted about what the post office could possibly have done with it. On day 9, she got her answer. She got the package back in her mailbox.
When addressing mail to someone, the importance of including the actual address should not be underestimated. Thankfully, she got my name right and did put the number of the house on it but didn't bother to write in the street name. The post office clerk who helped her readdress it was kind enough to not laugh directly at her and sent it back to me at no additional charge.
If this fudge ever gets here, I may well need help lifting my stale gift. I plan to enquire about how much Honeypot's man charges, minus the kiss.