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.
21 comments:
Honeypot's dating Mr. Plow? Wow. I bet she doesn't even have to pay to get plowed, like the rest of the neighbors.
Glad to hear that Honeypot's getting ploughed properly. I'm not sure what to make of your mother packing fudge and then leaving out her own son's address. It's like a very weird dream with all these unintended possible meanings.
Anyway, I do hope that your package shows up fresh, intact, and useable. In the meantime, I blame it all on global warming. If only I had a nickel, I could go to Canada and hire a physicatrist to spell it out for me.
I'll be nice and I'll skip the "I helped your mom pack that fudge" joke this time. However next time I may not be so nice.
Are those pistachios?
Does Honeypot have a leopard-print down jacket?
Will the fudge arrive frozen and if so, how will Dale know if it is stale?
Will Dale, rale if the maple fudge is stale?
Tune in tomorrow for the next exciting episode of, "As The Plow Plows!"
Please tell me Honeypot was wearing some piece of bright pink winter gear, or at least something with fake fur.
Never ever give Canada Post the benefit of the doubt, trust me
While you are waiting for your package you should take all that fudge deprived longing and write some really bad poetry - pain produces great art!
I remember there was a time when all mailmen had ESP. Things have really gone downhill.
Aren't you pissed off you have to deal with the frozen tundra and bobcat's drivers kissing honeypot and missing fudge when Tanya is basking in the sun in San Diego and didn't take you with her?
I can't get the Mr. Plow song out of my head, or the image of them both cruising down the street in the moonlight. ;)
Honeypot sure has a way of classing up the neighbourhood. I wonder though, if she dates men by seasons? Perhaps come spring she will have found herself a sweetie who drives a rototiller.
Current sweetie will come in handy for moving the fudge package when it arrives.
You mean like me don't you Beckeye?
It's a dream I can't wake up from Chancelucky although I scream regularly like I have. Come up, I'll get you on the health care plan.
I appreciate that Dr. Monkey, you're showing a (back)side I didn't know you had.
Cormac - Not sure, no doubt, it may be tough to tell, I won't rail, my life is like Soap now isn't it?
There was fake fur Bubs but it was an all in white number stretching GoreTex to the limit.
I don't usually Gifted Typist but this time I get to blame Mom for something again. Yay!
This whole blog is like really bad longform poetry Mr. Walker.
The only thing that doesn't go downhill is the postal workers X. Dell, they might trip.
It's more like I consider the city safe again now that Tanya's out of town Bluez, oh the relief.
It was surreal Allison and those Bobcats are tiny compared to what was stuffed inside. The horror.
Your seasonal idea makes sense Barbara, we can learn from her! If it ever gets here I'll be happy to ask for the help I've needed for years.
I'm sure it will get there eventually. The post is (or used to be) good here. An envelope arrived addressed to my husband, no street, no number, just the town. Miracles do still exist.
Mmmm, maple fudge. I feel a little sugar high coming on right now. Be sure to bring some when you come to my movie theater and the free candy is yours!
I would snigger and point at your mom if I hadn't done the exact same thing myself once. Not with fudge, you understand, fudge is of paramount importance and therefore, foremost in my mind.
And talking of snow, I haven't seen the actual ground since early November here in the prairies. I'm pretty sure there used to be grass under there and roads and things. I want spring to come so I can ride my damn bike.
Mmmm fudge....
When I lived in snow country, I dreamed of having a lover with a bobcat..then when I lived in an 80 year-old house, I dreamed of having a lover who was a licensed plumber and electrician.
It never worked out.
Ah..I once sent stuffed cabbage rolls from Wyoming to CA. They were frozen solid and I put them in a styrofoam ice chest. I didn't count on the weather being so warm in Sacramento..in March.
Dave could smell them as he got out of his vehicle, and so could everyone single cat and dog in the neighborhood. :)
I love fudge... think ur mom would adopt me??
You are such a great writer... I could totally picture Honeypot in the cab of that tractor! lmao
Happy Monday
Be nice to him Dale...sometimes you may need to borrow that man's machine to plough yourself.
I wish I lived in your neighborhood. Not just for the home-made fudge, but I'd love to meet HoneyPot and the former bagel lady.
"I won't rail"
No, not "rail," "rale."
Like the weird chest sound, because the fudge is...nevermind.
Good thing you didn't pretend you already got it just to make her happy. Not that I'd expect anything like that from you, especially not where treats are involved.
Did that sound bitchy?
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