Oh, precioussss mail, yes.

I feel I owe an explanation to our mail carrier who was forced to go above and beyond to deliver a package to us yesterday. I really appreciate you going through all that, I do. But I was just too ugly to answer the door.

I heard the bell ring, and I know you saw me peek my nose through the curtains to see who it was. I also know the only reason you ever ring the bell is when you have something --a package perhaps-- that's too big to fit in the mailbox. And since you are a conscientious trained professional it is your habit to deliver such items personally, or at least leave them in the lock protected, inner hall. Believe me, I had every intention to aid you in that endeavor, I even started walking toward the apartment door to do so. The problem was that I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the way.

You're a young woman, and very beautiful if I may say so (not sucking up, I swear)...and you work outdoors. And like me, your skin and hair must be suffering from the effects of this brutally cold weather. I pray not to extent of mine. In my case, the chapping of my lips has spread to my entire face, I even joke about it at work, when someone complains of chapped lips I say "Well I have chapped face" and they all laugh --you can ask them. But the joke ended two days ago when my overly dry and flaky skin began to shed in large, measurable strips; revealing raw, red skin and a wealth of acne that had previously resided underneath the top layer of my epidermis. As you may predict, a catch-22 emerged. I mean, I can't put acne medicine on already painfully dry, flaking skin. And I can't put heavy, petroleum based products on either as they would irritate the acne. My only solution is to wait it out, use a mild soap and water-based moisturizer, and dot this crazy hot-pink calamine-looking acne lotion on each individual pimple with a Q-tip. A painstaking task, let me tell you. One which, when viewed, gives one the impression I had put my head in a mosquito nest, then rolled it in poison oak, and then sat under a sun lamp for twenty hours in an attempt to burn off the rash covered bites. Not a pretty sight. Frightening in fact, potentially dangerous even, if you happen to have a heart condition or something.

So I'm sorry. I heard the bell, and I knew that you knew I was home. But instead of leaving an attempted delivery slip and walking away, you continued to ring bells until you found someone to let you in. I knew you knew I was cowering behind the door, one pink dotted cheek pressed against the peep-hole as you, so politely, so delicately, tapped upon it and said, "It's only the mail. I have a package for you." I knew you could smell my fear and shame when you whispered, "I'll just leave it here for you, okay?" giving me my dignity and a heads-up to retrieve it when you left. I hope you can forgive me and understand my position. It was for your own good.