And now I feel guilty. Which is stupid I know but it turns out I have a heart after all.
Or a piece of one rattling round in an otherwise ice cold body.
My postie is a bloody judgemental and nosy bugger. He asks so many intrusive questions that I have to bat away but I also realise he's unhappy and maybe doesn't get to talk to people but bloody hell I'm sick of being grilled at my front door.
Where's my husband today, what's he doing? Why's he doing that? He's only just come back why's he going away again? He's in London today? Why has he gone there? Why do you do this? Why do you do that? What's going on with your neighbours house? Supposed to be a col crisis you wouldn't think it with all the parcels everyone's getting, etc. what do I do for a living, why do I do it, is there much money in it? Am I going away, I'm not? Why not? I should, why don't I? What's wrong?
I just reached my breaking point this morning and told him it's because I'm batcrap crazy and haven't left the house in years.
Then said my goodbyes and went on Amazon to buy an extra large parcel box just so I don't have to answer the door to him again.
I can't be the only one who has gone to ridiculous lengths to avoid people 🤣. So what are your stories?