At least I’m getting exercise. My regime? Running like a mad thing from the computer desk at the back of my house to the front gate to go get the mail as soon as humanly possible. All catalysed by the very instant I detect the postie’s approach.
I’ve now set an alarm so I should be out there to greet them. My plan is to chirp a sunny, “Any parcels for me today?” as if it isn’t any big deal.
The foaming weeabot screaming if it is there might give the game away though.
I must not flying-tackle and snog the mail carrier.
I must not flying-tackle and snog the mail carrier.
I must not flying-tackle and snog the mail-carrier…