Something has to be said for the simple things in life.

For example, what makes you feel important and special, yet is useful? The mail.

For me, every day is like a surprise party, the climax being the moment of truth when I peek into the stolidly ordinary black box perched upon the curb, stuffed with treasures from afar (or a booklet of double coupons from Super Fresh). Some days the box is fat with anonymous bundles of paper, just waiting to be ripped open. Other days my mailbox yields only a meager supply of mystery when all I find is Ed McMahon's smiling face informing me of my possible tremendous good luck.

It amazes me how something can travel from anywhere in the world into my waiting hands. It makes me feel important that anyone, anywhere, would go to the trouble of sending me anything (unless of course, I get a form letter. I hate form letters, so impersonal. I hate them especially when they find me worthy enough to carry a gold card. I can't even drive or vote, but their confidence in me is unwavering.).

The mail is the only thing which I can honestly say is better to receive than to give. Once a letter reaches me, it is safe. On the other hand, as soon as I send a letter, all I can think about are the horrors of the United States Postal Service. I know that thousands of letters end up as hostages, a stamp or proper zip code being their only hop. As soon as I put the red flag up and leave that letter to the outside world, I visualize it languishing in some unspeakably horrendous "pit", never to be seen again. (I am told that unmatched socks are treated that way in another division of the USPS.)

But when all is said and done, my daily adventure soon loses its luster as the day wears on. The funny thing is, I do feel famous for fifteen minutes, not one time in my life, but every day (Sundays excepted). n