The Wayward Mailman

Jill slid behind a huge oak tree. She watched the mailman advance toward 1793 Norwalk Avenue. So far the morning had been unsuccessful, but she was sure she would catch him in the act. After all, he had been doing this for three years now. Jill had to find out, the suspense was killing her. Also, her reputation as the neighborhood gossip had to be upheld.
 The mailman dropped several letters into the dark mailbox on the wall, then crossed the neatly-groomed yard to the next house. A dog barked nearby. Jill looked around suspiciously, then glance at the mailman.
 "Damned," Jill mumbled. She had been sure that 1793 was the right house. A very sexy blonde divorcee lived there. Jill turned and rested with her back against the tree. She found herself looking into the eyes of a 12 year old boy on a bicycle. He was looking from her to the mailman and back again.
 "What are you doing?" the boy demanded.
 "Why aren't you in school?" Jill growled in an evil mood. He looked like a nosey kid. He would probably grow up to be a drug peddler.
 "I'm home sick," he said condescendingly.
 "Then get your ass into bed. You don't go out and play when you are home sick. NOW!" she screamed, hurrying him on his way. Jill rolled around the trunk of the tree and looked for the mailman. He was gone! So it must be 1795. He didn't have time to go anywhere else. Unfortunately, she didn't know who lived at 1795. Jill lived on the adjoining street, Madison Avenue.
 Jill hurried down the sidewalk. She approached 1795, hurried across the yard and stood in front of a heavy hedge. She could hear voices coming through the open window, and one of them was definitely male. It must be him. She wanted to barge in through the front door and confront them, but she would be arrested for trespassing if she did. Unfortunately, screwing the neighborhood women was not against the law, even for a mailman who consistently delivered the mail half an hour late. She had set out to see who was stealing that half an hour. It was her half hour and she wanted it back. Her mail was supposed to be delivered at precisely 2:13 PM. Somebody owed her. Besides, her friends had challenged her. She had to find out all she could to satisfy them.
 She heard a girlish peal of laughter and growled in outrage. Not only were they fucking, he was telling her jokes? How dare they. It was time to put an end to this. She broke a branch off the hedge before her, jabbed her arm with it and waited for a welt to appear. When one did appear she dropped the broken branch and approached the front door. She hesitated for only a moment, before pressing the button. A sweet black-haired girl in her early twenties opened the door. She gave Jill a questioning smile, looking around behind her, before looking at Jill again.
 "I... I hurt myself on your hedge," Jill said, displaying her marked arm.
 "My hedge is on my lawn, fifteen feet from the sidewalk," the woman said with a quizzical smile.
 "Wha... oh," Jill said in sudden embarassment.
 "Come in," the woman said, stepping back. Jill practically lunged inside. She immediately saw the mailman sitting at the dinning room table. He was eating a cookie. There was a tall glass of milk in front of him. His bag of mail sat on the floor behind him. If he had been 200 pounds heavier and dressed in red, he might have been mistaken for Santa.
 Jill looked into his smiling, wholesome face, and piercing blue eyes. Her breath was taken away at that one glance. She had never been so close to him before. He was slender and handsome.
 My God, what am I doing here? Jill suddenly wondered, feeling totally out of place.
 "Hi," the mailman said. "Come for cookies?"
 "She had an accident," the woman said with a warm smile. She needs a bandaid.
 "I know you," he shook a cookie at Jill while chewing thoughtfully. "1929 Madison Avenue?"
 "Yes," Jill said in surprise.
 "Why that's just across the block," the black haired woman said in surprise.
 Jill nodded, confused, embarrassed, horrified. "I... I wanted to meet you and couldn't think of a rational excuse," Jill lied to the woman. "So I made up..." she trailed off, wishing that God would strike her dead and save her from further embarassment. How could she be so dumb? How could she mistake an elicit affair, with a milk and cookie stop? She was so fucking stupid.
 "How sweet," the woman said, pressing a bandaid over Jill's welt. "Ok, you sit and I'll get another glass. Today is chocolate chips, Todd's favorites."