When Will and I were first married, I would go with him to get the mail. The mailboxes are all located right across the yard maybe, oh, 100 feet from our front door. (I just had to ask Will to estimate the distance from our front door to the mailboxes because I am really, really bad at estimating distance. This is my excuse for hitting that stupid pole with my car, which resulted in $500 worth of damage. (I just had to ask Will how much it cost us to fix the car after I ran into the pole.) Geez, should I just let him write the blog or what?)
Anyways. I used to go with Will to check the mail BUT NOT ANYMORE. Will has to do that all by himself now because I don’t have 45 minutes in my day to dedicate to the gathering of the mail. Like all normal human beings, Will walks to the box, puts the key in the slot, and retrieves the mail. As soon as that mail is in his hands, however, he snaps into some bizarre, anal-retentive, mail-controlling mode. Suddenly, our house is an exclusive nightclub and Will is the bouncer making sure that not one uninvited piece of paper makes it in without the proper dress and conduct code. He has a job to do. He is duty-bound to crowd control the mail.
And, so, every day Will stands at the trash receptacle outside and sorts the mail. He opens every envelope. He analyzes the bills. He tosses the ads. He reads the letters from political candidates asking for more money please. He goes through the magazines and removes all the subscription cards. He tears up the thousands of credit card offers. He rips and destroys and examines and evaluates. You’ve got to be a pretty important piece of mail to make it into the Wallace household.
Sometimes a piece of mail will arrive with an account number or social security number printed on it. You’d think that Will would just bring it inside and shred it, right? That’s what any ordinary, mail collecting individual would do. But, no, not Will. The mail would have won the battle. It would have made it past the velvet ropes. When a piece of mail arrives with a valuable number on it, Will tears out the number and EATS IT.
This place is exclusive, I tell you, ex.clu.sive. It’s Studio 54 gone postal.
Janet, your husband is totally bizarre. And I mean that in the nicest way! :)
Posted by: Kathryn | May 26, 2005 at 12:40 AM
Oooh what a good idea. I like throwing my mail away too. Who wants it in the house? But eating valuable numbers...never thought of that. Will have to give that a try. *Wink, wink*
Posted by: Kukorakin | May 26, 2005 at 04:11 AM
Eats it? Nice. :) As a person who seems to accumulate stacks of mail alllll over the house, his system seems sound to me.
Posted by: Erin | May 26, 2005 at 05:56 PM
maybe he has a strong dietary need for wood pulp?
Posted by: carrie | May 27, 2005 at 05:11 AM
hee! hee! I thought I was obsessive about mail sorting. That is too funny. Do certain kinds of mail taste better than others? :)
Posted by: myra | May 27, 2005 at 11:23 AM
i just re-read this post and am thinking to myself, this is really well-written and interesting.
i thought i'd share that with you.
Posted by: carrie | May 29, 2005 at 06:46 AM
Wow. Thank you, Carrie. That is really nice. :)
Posted by: Janet | May 29, 2005 at 11:40 AM
Hey Janet this is the 6 th time I have checked you blog today!
Posted by: Kathryn | May 29, 2005 at 10:34 PM
So when I first saw the picture of that piece of mail on your blog, I was all, like, "he..he...I don't get it." And then I read your post and the comments and went back to look at the picture, and I was all, "THAT IS THE FUNNIEST PIECE OF MAIL EVER."
Posted by: QOB | June 21, 2005 at 11:07 AM