Stamps & STDs: The Postman Stops Waving

     Since the commencement of wedding plans, I’ve formed a fondness for the neighborhood mailman.

Like this... except tall, dark, and not wearing a Murse.

No, this isn’t some last hoorah for a desperate almost-housewife. He looks silly in those starched shorts and black socks, anyway. I simply look forward to his timed arrival everyday. His magic white buggy circles round the cul-de-sac to deliver envelopes and packages with my name on them, and though he is a towering, bald, and dark-skinned man I daily fight the urge to bring him milk and cookies, a wish list scrawled in waxy crayon, and crawl upon his lap. He sensed my enthusiasm for mail, you see, and began stopping to chat. He humored my son with thrilling 5-mile-per-hour rides in the mail truck. He humored me by mimicking my childish excitement: “Oh! Here is another package for you. You must be special!”. It’s easy to see how dates blurred and every Summer afternoon felt like a crisp Christmas morn.

Last week, as jolly Saint Stamps approached the mail box, my son casually climbed in his truck. I retrieved a much-anticipated package with my left hand while high-fiving him with my right. Business as usual. Unable to contain myself, I eyed the box with laugh-teary eyes. Wild jazz hands and much hooting and hollering later, I exclaimed to my old chum “YES! I am so ready to get started on those STDs!” as I danced up and down the drive. Amid my cartwheels and fist-pumping, I’d hardly noticed the quiet demeanor of our normally chatty visitor. And just like that the magic was gone. Holiday over. Eyes dulled and awkwardly darting, the merry mail mover booted my toddler from his sleigh and smoked tires with his hasty departure. “Odd”, I thought. “He must have too many kids on his Good List today”.

Days passed without so much as a word. His smile twisted into a sour grimace. The same foot which once pumped the brake to slow now revved the engine and sped past, tossing our mail into the slot from across the street. I thought it crazy to feel so hurt by the Postman Pal Who Wasn’t, but I couldn’t help the nagging guilt that I’d unknowingly been demoted to the Naughty List.

    It wasn’t until I sat down yesterday with that tragic package that the factors behind our breakup  became abundantly clear.

1. A friend of mine once littered e-mails with phrases like “LOL”. I never knew what any of it meant, but I began responding with acronym-laden messages because it seemed like the cool thing to do. Eventually I learned that “ROFL” was not pronounced “rawffle” and did not imply that one was about to eat a frozen waffle. The point of the all-caps lingo, I was told, was to simplify and save time while communicating. What better time to trim the time-consuming, verbal fat than when busy planning a wedding?  My friends are still new to this hip speech, but that doesn’t stop me from blurting out things like this : OMG! GL 2 B DS-ed before Ima go WTF! FML! WNMT. That sentence only took my a hundredth of a millisecond to type, see? Sure, I had to write a second, third, and fifth response explaining that “Oh my God! The guest list needs to be down-sized before I’m going to go ‘What The F-word-rhymes-with-puck! Puck my life! We’ll need more tables’ “. But I feel like once everyone catches on I will certainly save a solid ten minutes over the course of six months. The poor Sir of Shipping, however,  wasn’t privy to the educational tutorials on acronyms I’d sent on Facebook. He couldn’t have possibly deciphered my text-speak as he doesn’t have a phone with which to text. At least that’s what he told me when I asked him to call as soon as he had a feeling that I maybe might be getting a new treat in the mail. On that fateful day, the clueless postman heard “STDs!” and darted home to bathe in hand sanitizer.

2. As if my stunned friend needed any more convincing, the specific return address on the specific package that I received specifically two seconds before shouting “STDs!” was more than a little incriminating.

First Class, Extra Classy!

     Of course the truth is hardly as tantalizing (or itchy).

I found the perfect rubber stamp, custom-made by an Etsy vendor with a remarkably misleading shop name. My G-rated purchase from Asspocket Productions was essential in finishing a fun wedding project: postcard Save The Dates.

Good news is I’m cleaner than a Clorox wipe, and the newest disgruntled employee of the United States Postal Service doesn’t work near my naughty, naughty PO Box. As I spend the weekend brainstorming ways to convince a stranger I don’t have herpes, you can send a little love (use an envelope…for protection) for The Very Bloggy Wedding Wonder Wall. I’ve got about two tons of ribbon sitting lonely and waiting for your creative contributions!

Ribbons need love, too.

Send a note to be showcased at our wedding to

Tori “No Itch I Can’t Scratch” Nelson

PO Box 11241

Jackson, TN

38308

Here are a few parcels of super scandalous mail sent in by readers so far:

From the ahhsome Sandi Ormsby at  Ahhsome 

From the sassy Beth at The Goon Room 

From the cute AND crunk Emily from Hey from Japan- Notes on Moving, already getting this wedding party started right.

Even her envelope deserves a spot on the wall!

Bag-o-rice-&-ha-ha from the hilarious Sav at The Capital L

Happy mailing.

I know I will. Because wise reader Amy said it best,

“The only thing better than making STDs is giving them away” . 

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31 thoughts on “Stamps & STDs: The Postman Stops Waving

  1. Thank you for the explanations. I was wondering what the Washington Naval Military Treaty (limiting the size of battleships after World War 1) had to do with your wedding. Sucks when an acronym means something WILDLY different that what you think it should, doesn’t it? :D

  2. I used to love rubber stamps and card/paper arts, but never did see the company out there known as “Asspockets”. What did you say STD stood for? Must’ve missed that in your post. (or did i?)

  3. I’ve been called many things, but “wise” is a first! Thanks, Tori.
    I can see how receiving something from “Asspocket Productions” in a plain brown envelope could be misconstrued. What an awesome name, though!
    And, this is one I made a while ago, but it fits so well with this post:

  4. I am constantly looking up those abbreviations, but that was one even I didn’t need to… I felt smug and clever the entire post. So funny picturing you pirouetting around the cul-de-sac!
    TTFN!

  5. funny! :)
    My quote to you just came up yesterday while watching Dexter on Netflix. The episode we saw, there was a pregnant mom, ranting and raving and basically a crazy person over nothing. Dexter gives a look to one of the other kids, with raised eye brows and the kids shrug…and I said
    “See, if momma’s not happy, ain’t nobody happy. It really is true.” :)

    HAHAHAH! Oh, what fun for you! I can’t wait until you share other well- wishers!

    Sandi

    http://www.ahhsome.wordpress.com

    Lake Forest, CA

  6. Cani still send you a note, even though I will be there at the wedding? *rubs hands together and quietly gives an evil cackle*

  7. Ha ha ha, Our church also uses the Save The Date slogan and I keep warning them that one day someone will form an acronym and announce it from the stage.

    Can you picture that? ha ha ha

  8. You’ve gotta be careful with those acronymns, Tori. They can ruin your life :)

    I laughed at Thehonestone’s comment before me. It would be hilarious if they announced the acronym in church. I’d love to see if people gasp or laugh!

  9. Loved this, Tori.

    I’ve been stymied in my attempts to visit your blog ~ every time I tried to enter through the “front door” my computer FROZE.

    Janna kindly gave me a link to this post . . . and I’m in like Flint!

  10. And here I thought OMG! GL 2 B DS-ed before Ima go WTF! FML! WNMT meant,

    Old Man Giraffe! Good Looking 2 Beard Disease Striped before Ima go With The Flow! Flow, My Ladies! Why Not Make Time.

    Thanks for clearing it up. Yours makes much more sense.

  11. Hahaha… you might also try shortening the word “ridiculous” to just “re-dick”. That’s what my mom does, and she’s still ultra classy! :)

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