You've Got Mail

PLEASE SORT MAIL INTO THE APPROPRIATE BOXES, THANKS.
Only there appears to be just one mailbox and it is sadly dented and unable to receive mail of any kind.

Fancy.

Charming, albeit rusty.

Not the most exciting visually, I just like this person's name. You can never have too much self esteem.

When we first moved in there was an unlocked metal mailbox nailed to the outside of the house. As this didn't seem too safe, Big Joe put a mail slot through the downstairs door. Only this door leads to the area under the stoop which tends to fill up with puddles when it rains and everyone's mail got rather soggy. So then Big Joe built a wooden box and it attached it to the inside of the door below the mail slot. However, whenever a largish letter or catalogue has to be inserted it refuses to go in. Our mail carrier, an older black woman who always looks tired and grumpy, is less than pleased with our mail box situation and has told us so, in no uncertain terms, on several occasions. Often when I see her half way down the block, I will sit on the stoop and wait for her to arrive so she doesn't have to struggle with our defective mailbox.

Big Joe has far too much on his plate at the moment to build a new mailbox. If I could fix this problem myself I would. But I'm not too handy with a saw, let alone a hammer and nail. I'm afraid I'm rather on the girly side in that respect. A part of my character that hasn't gone unnoticed by our four year old. Big Joe has been out of town for the past few nights and Little Joe has been unable to sleep. He says he's afraid of "bad guys breaking into our house." And that he only feels safe when "Dad's home because he has muscles." So much for all my work on not reinforcing gender stereotypes.