TouchedByMadness

Living in Sin on a Rural Route Is Not Condoned by the USPS

This post is part of the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, and is meant to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN).

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The Captain and I had been together nearly three years when he invited me to move in with him. I had mixed feelings on cohabitation at the time. If my younger sister hadn’t long since decided to shack up with her boyfriend, I might have refused for fear of offending my parents. As I mentioned before, growing up my mother cautioned us that premarital sex was the surest way to secure an afterlife of eternal damnation. Surprisingly, she was quite excited for me when I revealed my plans to make the Captain’s home mine as well. I am fairly certain that this abrupt change in principles is due to the fact that she’d prefer a grandchild over my salvation.

With Mom on my side (and apparently praying for me to get knocked up), I took up residence in my new home Catholic-guilt free. Too easy. As far as I was concerned, everything worked out perfectly.

That is when I stopped receiving mail.

I had filed my change of address forms with the USPS (and my bank, credit cards, the DMV, etc.) about a week and a half before my actual move to prevent any serious delays with my mail. For the first couple weeks I didn’t pay much attention to the sudden cessation of flyers and loan offers. But after a month, I suspected there was an issue and called the local post office.

The man who answered the phone was very friendly until I informed him, “I’m not receiving my mail.”

“Then you’re not getting any.”

“No, I’m quite sure I should have gotten mail by now. I think there’s a problem.”

“Look, if you’re not getting mail it’s because no one is sending you mail. We don’t hoard your mail. What we have, we deliver!”

“I understand that, but I haven’t even been receiving my weekly pay stubs. So you see, I know I should be getting mail, but it’s not arriving here.”

At this point the man realized that I most likely had a valid argument and stopped to think instead of yelling at me. He asked where I lived, had some revelation about “rural routes,” and directed me to call the post office the next town over.

Again, I called the post office and explained my situation. They put my mail carrier on the line.

“Yes, Miss Willets. I have all your mail.”

“Excellent! When are you going to deliver it?”

“When you move in.”

“Uh . . . but I have. I’ve been living here for about a month.”

“You must be mistaken. My records show that the Captain is still living at that house.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I can’t deliver your mail until he moves out.”

“Um . . . but . . . yeah, you see, he’s not moving out.”

“Well then how would THAT work?” she snapped.

Long pause.

“. . . Ohhhhhhhhhh.”

Very long awkward pause.

She then explained to me that because I live on a rural route I would have to fill out a special card requesting service. I also had to make sure to list my name AND the Captain’s name as mail recipients because since we didn’t share a last name, I wouldn’t be able to get my mail otherwise.

A simple “Welcome to the neighborhood” might have been nice.

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DONATE TO RAINN HERE. And if you’re feeling especially generous, please mention the GBBMC:08 and my name & blog in the “donation in honor of” field. Thanks for your support!

Smooth Operator

This post is part of the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, and is meant to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN).

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There was a time in my life (not so very long ago) when I truly believed that my sex appeal could be rated somewhere below that of a geriatric stripper. I have since realized that I was dating all the wrong men. Men who loved me like a sister. Men who “respected” me too much. Men that never even considered finding and pocketing a pair of my underwear.

At a certain point, that becomes bad for the self-esteem.

I recall one night in particular when I decided to make an attempt at being seductive. I wore something curve-accentuating, put on make-up and perfume, and dimmed all the lights. When my then-boyfriend arrived, I opened the door just a bit and leaned against the frame. Blocking the entrance with my body, I asked him suggestively, “What’s the password?”

He stared at me dumbfounded for a moment. Then he answered, thoroughly disoriented, “Um . . . camel?”

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DONATE TO RAINN HERE. And if you’re feeling especially generous, please mention the GBBMC:08 and my blog in the “donation in honor of” field. Thanks for your support!

Light My Fire

Every woman wants a romantic man. I suspect very few women actually have them.

Not long ago, I made one of my usual trips out to the Captain’s place for dinner. I called him when I left work to give him a head’s up and started my forty-five minute drive to his house.

When I arrived, I immediately sensed that something was . . . different. I paused long enough to decide that it was probably all in my head and collected my stuff to go inside.

As I was accustomed to doing, I let myself in. The Captain was nowhere to be seen. Not much could be seen, in fact. The room was not quite dark, but certainly dim. A bit of ambient light glowed from a half a dozen candles strategically placed around the room. I stood there for a few moments, taking in the scene.

“Hello?”

“Yeah?” the Captain answered from the bedroom.

I suppose some of you are all ready to comment le sigh and tell me how lucky I am to have found such a man. And some of you may be raising an eyebrow, assuming you know where this story goes next. I have to admit that neither of those two things occurred to me in that moment.

“Hey!”

The Captain appeared in the doorway with a smile and another candle. “What?”

I pointed at the flames dancing all around me. “Power go out?” I asked.

He sighed and set the freshly lit candle among the others.

“Yup.”

A Slow News Day

Couple Makes a Clean Start
Published: March 3, 2006

Napville, USA — Lovebirds Stacey and her Captain decided to prove their affection to one and all. The couple, who will be celebrating their one year anniversary later this month (neither party could recall the exact date) decided it was time to take their relationship to the next level. In a small private ceremony held last night, Miss Willets, overcome with emotion, presented the Captain with his own toothbrush to keep at her apartment.

“I was really surprised when she first suggested it,” the Captain told our reporter, “but I think it’s time. It just feels right.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Stacey mused as she slipped the new toothbrush next to hers in the holder, “I dated this one guy for five years, and he would never stay over if he’d forgotten his toothbrush. You would think I’d just get him one to keep at my place, but I never did.” She shrugs. “I guess I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.”

If Stacey has any fear of commitment now, she doesn’t show it. Not only has she bought an extra toothbrush for the Captain, but she’s also accepted the invitation to keep one at his house. “Along with whatever other ‘girl stuff’ she may want to leave at my place,” the Captain added.

Sources close to the couple are optimistic. “It’s a significant gesture,” one friend said. “Not only does it say, ‘I spend enough time here to need my own personal hygiene stuff,’ but, more importantly, it says, ‘I won’t kiss you with stinky breath.’” If that’s not love, what is?

Clearly things are progressing for the happy couple, but what does the future hold? We asked Stacey where she plans to take things from here — sharing a bureau drawer? cohabitation? the pitter-patter of little feet?

“Look, this has been fun, but I need to take a shower,” Stacey replied. “Seriously . . . get out.”

Proof that generosity goes only so far.

Still, the message is uplifting. Another couple finds true love in this crazy, mixed up world. Best wishes and bright smiles to you both.