Last Wednesday my husband hurried off to the post office with a truck-load of Digging Deep t-shirts to mail. We had a gajillion of you to order those shirts on that last go-around and only a few were local deliveries—shirts that we were going to hand off to a neighbor or take to our West Huntsville family to deliver. One of those few hand-deliverable envelopes looked like this:
So Flori was supposed to get her shirt at Bible class on Wednesday night. But her package was accidentally placed (by Glenn) in the big bins of shirts going to the post office.
Next, you should know that our postmistress is amazing. Mrs. M, we will call her, is efficient and so kind to let us leave our bulk bins of packages with her in the morning, along with whatever cash she estimates the mailing will cost, so she can work on them throughout the day. But even Mrs. M cannot figure out what to do with a package that looks like Flori’s.
So she sent Glenn this text message, along with the above photo: “ …don’t know what to do with this one.”
Obviously Mrs. M needed an address. Glenn, however saw the message, failed to look at the number, and assumed it was from me. Oblivious to the fact that he was talking to the USPS, he texted back: “I had a note that Flori requested one.” Then he added his signature “X” —a kiss that I receive in almost every text. Yes. He sent the postmistress a kiss.
Mrs. M, thinking Glenn had “gone round the bend,” replied: “…but there was no address on package.” She added three of those little emojis of bewildered women shrugging their shoulders.
Glenn, still thinking he was talking to me, responded pertinaciously “She’s a member at West Huntsville. Couldn’t we just hand it to her?!” He still thought he was texting his wife and he thought I was the one who’d “gone round the bend.”
At which time, the poor postmistress texted. “Yes. I was just letting you know it was in the box of stuff you brought for me to mail.” This time she added three of the “laugh-till-you-cry” emojis.
At that moment Glenn realized he was talking to Mrs. M instead of Cindy. It also occurred to him that he’d sent the wrong woman that kiss.
“OHHHH! I thought I was talking to Cindy. I’ll pick up the package later today.”
- I’m glad my husband is a man of integrity. The postmistress completely trusts him to pay any overage at the end of the day for those packages he’s dropped off.
- I’m glad my husband is a man of integrity. He confessed to me later that night that he’d kissed another woman. I was in a hurry to get to class when he made that confession. I said, “Well, you’ll have to explain that later,” without one fretful thought in my head. Glenn said “Don’t you even want to know?!” He is a faithful husband in every way.
- I’m glad my husband is a man of integrity. His “in sickness and in health” vow extends to “in shallow times and in digging deep times.” I think he’s mailed a thousand packages in the last few days for me.
- I’m glad my husband is a man of integrity. Whenever I do “go “round the bend” (if I beat him to the bend), he is still going to be kind to me and text me kisses.
But he should still probably check the number accompanying the text to which he’s responding.