Basketball, schmasketball. Today is the day that the mail comes with information about my Lil’ Precious’ fitness for preschool in our fine fair city.
I did not, I repeat, I did NOT, cancel all my plans to stalk the mailman or mailwoman. I certainly did not volunteer to cover the children’s naps so I could possibly be home when the mail arrives. That’s a bold face lie.
And I won’t stand for it.
However, if I just happen to be standing in the front courtyard when the U.S. Postal service makes its daily delivery, well, that’s just plain old good luck (and not stalking).
Don’t mind me, Mr. Postman, I am just enjoying some unseasonably warm weather and admiring God’s handiwork here in the privacy of my courtyard.
If you don’t hear from me again, assume that authorities were notified and that I need a lawyer.