I have a sneaking suspicion that I may be a secret mail eater. I must stress that this has not been medically confirmed and is only based upon my personal bodily reactions when the postman arrives in his shiny red van. I heard Mum on the phone the other day t o “Royal Mail” (we must have very posh post or something…”, anyway she was complaining that we didn’t seem to get post daily anymore, and here’s me thinking “we get loads of post, it’s just that I eat it”.
I realised early on that all of the evidence has to disappear otherwise risk serious incrimination. Mum goes out in the morning, I wait patiently by the door until I hear his van pull up. I jump up the front door and peep through the glass (not an easy task as it is frosted), then I gently pull the letters out of the postman’s hand when he pushes them through the letter box. Okay, that’s actually a downright lie. I rip the letters from his quivering hand (same postman each day so knows what to expect), I also try to take as much of his sleeve in my mouth as possible at the same time. I then shake the mail vigorously until it splits open, and then enjoy a few hours of well deserved eating.
There were slim pickings today provided by the nice “Royal Mail” man. Important note to self though – “Don’t eat mail with cheques in them”. Apparently this is bad judging from Mums purple face and the way she tore around the house trying to piece together the bits I hadn’t gotten around to eating yet. Innocence is bliss though…..unfortunately during my mail tearing frenzy Ellie got covering in some “cheque” pieces. Who knew she’d get the blame :@)) Postman Loving Jay