Fessin' Up......AGAIN!

Forget the milkman!  I'll choose the mailman any day!  He knows all of your deepest darkest secrets, right?  He sees all of the lingerie you order, the next miracle diet, the exercise dvds that are going to give you back the body you had when you were 16. He might know that you are having financial woes by the collection notices you receive or that you are a diversified investor by the bank statements you receive. I'm sure he knows a lot about you that you would rather him not.   He knows by the magazines you receive that you love to cook, you love photography and interior design.  He knows that your husband is a metrosexual and that you  aspire to be an expert horticulturist by summer or a master knitter by winter.
 
I received a call this morning from my friend Itchy.  She informed me I had, yet another, parcel delivered to her house and we giggled like two school girls at our hidden secret.  You see, I have been sort of pulling one over the SF but I figure I better put an end to it and head downstairs to 'fess up.

"Honey?", I say.

"Yeeeees?"  Apparently he can read my tone because it's pretty clear from his that he knows that I am about to spill the beans (again).

"I have something funny to tell you but it means I have to 'fess up."

"Yeeeees?", he says again, with a smile upon his lips.

"Remember the last time I went for Stitch n Bitch at Itchy's...waaaaaaaaaaay back when and I told you I met the nice postal worker.  It was quite cold outside so when Itchy asked if  he would like to come in  and warm up by the fire with a freshly brewed coffee made from Itchy's hubby's own roast and a homemade cinnamon bun, of course he couldn't turn down the offer."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, when Itchy introduced me, he asked what our address was and when I told him 484, he said he had a parcel out in his van for me."

"Uh-huh"

"He asked if I wanted it now or if I wanted it delivered to the mailbox.  Itchy and I laughed at our good luck.  It was some knitting supplies/stash  we had collectively order and I had been rushing to the mailbox each day, trying to get there before you.  The parcel ended up being the perfect size to smuggle home in my current knitting bag and you would be none the wiser.  And that's exactly what happened.  I came home and smuggled my beloved parcel right past you and you didn't have a clue."

The SF laughs.



(Imagine how hard I was laughing inside when you insisted on stopping at the mailbox on our way home from the squash court that afternoon and I knew I had successfully foiled you!)

"The problem is...", I explain, "that now every time I get a parcel, the mailman delivers it to Itchy's house.  The first time it was a birthday gift from my dear friend in Chicago.  Itchy and I thought the mailman made a simple error that time so I just let it pass.  Then a week or so ago, I ordered a book and that was what Itchy called about this morning.  My book was delivered to her box again......"

Insert the slightly uncomfortable silent pause here.....wait for it...wait for it.... and......let the head shaking begin!

I guess it's time for me to let the poor mailman off the hook.  But seriously?  You tell me where can you live that your mailman becomes complicit in sneaking your  knitting stash into your household unbeknownst to your husband?  Can you say enabler?