...Or, why I am a completely silly human being.
Every time I walk by the wall of P.O. boxes at our post office, I have to fight the urge to get one.
In my imagination, it's a magical numbered glass box. I would keep the special little key on a pretty piece of ribbon, and I would only open it on weekends as part of my downtown stroll to the farmer's market and coffee shop.
Of course, only really special mail would arrive there--handwritten letters from long-lost friends, pretty envelopes with stamps from exotic places. No junk mail or credit card offers.
Alas, I'm afraid the reality would be much different. My P.O. box would be sadly empty.
But a girl can dream, right?