When I work, I make myself at home. Because, you know, I am at home. On these miserable wintry days (not that Iím complaining, ha), I bundle up in sweats as soon as I get back from my morning errands. These are the same sweats I was wearing from the time I got up until the I left for my errands, except during the few minutes I was jumping into and out of the shower.
In other words, I spend my day in comfort clothes. I find it a lot more comfortable that way, but I canít walk the 500 feet or so to the road for my mail, late in the afternoon when itís starting to get even darker than it was all day, in sweats and slippers. So at about 4 pm every day I go through the ritual of getting into a pair of Leviís and finding my shoes for the mini-trek to the mailbox.
Every day itís like that, and every day I grumble and groan about having to change clothes in the middle of the day for a five-minute chore. Today was no exception. At the appointed time, when I knew the mail would have been delivered, I got into my jeans and sneakers and headed out the front door.
Then I remembered. Because todayís post brought me one the holiday packages Iíd ordered on line over the weekend, my postal carrier had kindly and thoughtfully brought my mail to the door. Two hours earlier. Sheíd knocked and Iíd thanked her as she handed it to me, and somehow it hadnít registered that this meant I wouldnít have to change clothes and wouldnít have to walk out in the cold gloaming to get my mail — which was already here!