I have a crush on the mailman. How ridiculous does that sound? I – a 39 year old woman – has a “crush” on the “mailman”. Let me say that again. I a woman of 39 has a crush on the mailman.
No matter how much I repeat it to myself, and to others, it doesn’t stop sounding ridiculous. But it is a fact that my days lately have been consumed by literally hunting the mailman. Now that I think about it I should’ve named this post “How to hunt a mailman and other hypotheses”.
I moved into a new place mid-summer last year. It’s a really cute, small apartment in the heart of West Kendall. Yes, that’s Miami. So I moved into this place and a few weeks after I met the mailman. At the time I was not fully aware of what I am today, but the first time I saw the mailman I thought to myself, “well, he’s cute.” But I left it there, as I do everything. I just left it there because why in this world would I even consider dating the mailman? Well, why not? I am single, available and considerably datable (a person who is worthy of taking out on a date). Considerably.
The truth is I left it there because, as I have realized today, considerably datable and all, I am just not brave enough to even ask the mailman for his name. Instead, I told my bestfriends. My bestfriends. Does this sound middle-school-ish to you yet? Let me break it down to you again. I, a 39 year old woman, has a crush on the mailman, but instead of asking him out, I tell my two bestfriends. Yes. Totally middle-school. I have officially regressed.
Back to my bestfriends. My friends are both of the Cancer sign, strong women who charge head on like a bull when they see a man they like. Like, what is there to lose? Pride? Who the hell cares about that?! Pft! And then there’s me. A Capricorn. Should I say more? I am often referred to as Wednesday Addams. And that about covers it. I could be dying inside to tell a man I really, REALLY like him. And all you will ever see is this:
I’m a little, just a tiny bit socially challenged. My version of flirting is this:
So you see my dilemma here. I am entirely too scared to even approach him. I refrain myself to just hunt him. When I see him I just smile and say hi. And while yes, I have exchanged a few words with him, I cannot for the life of me come up with something remotely interesting to say to him. Which is why, I just don’t.
So I tell my friends about this crush, and ALL HELL HAS BROKEN LOOSE. Like, OH-MY-GOD, the mailman is the trending topic. There is even a WhatsApp chat open in his name. If he only knew.
We spend hours over dinner at Isakaya, shopping for furniture at Rooms To Go, having lunch at Pei Wei, you name it, just talking about the mailman for hours. Text messages come and go, all around the mystery of this man, who knows nothing about me, and he just innocently does his job. Well, all he does is leave those God awful mail inserts that I end up putting in the recycling bin. But the truth is also, that I know nothing about him. So we have decided to start a list about the things we do know about the mailman.
- He is a mailman. Duh! Obviously.
- He is Cuban. Presumably from Havana (judging by his accent).
- He is chunky. But hey, who am I to judge anyone by their weight. I think he’s really cute. (Dear Mailman, if you ever read this, please know I think you are very, very cute.)
- That’s it.
We know not his name, not if he’s married, not if he’s engaged, not if he has family, if he likes to drink, smoke, go to the beach. WE KNOW NOTHING, JON SNOW. NOTHING.
And it’s killing me. (Judging by this post)
The hypotheses about the mailman could be endless, and hilarious. More than once I have broken in full blown laugh, no matter where, at the most ridiculous theories my friends and I come up with. It has actually gotten out of control. But it is so much fun.
There is one peculiar thing about the mailman. He listens to music while he delivers the mail. He always carries a Bluetooth speaker with him, and he listens to all kinds of music while he methodically pushes envelope after envelope in the mailboxes. I have heard rock, reggaeton, romantic pop, classic 80’s ballads, you name it. He has played them all. And I enjoy watching him do that. I wonder if he ever knows that I sit in my balcony just to hear his music.
He also carries a chain clipped to his belt where he has his keys. As he walks, he swings the chain back and forth, jingling as he goes. He may not even notice he does that, as it seems it’s part of his rhythm when he walks.
So why am I telling you all this, you may wonder? Well, I don’t even know myself. But if you know a mailman, probably in his 30s, who delivers mail in the West Kendall area, let him read this. Maybe he’ll figure out that Wednesday Addams has been trying to flirt after all. I believe in six degrees of separation.
Till then, I’ll be listening from my balcony.