WANTED! FOR FORCING FANTASIES ON A TIRED, OLD MIDDLE-AGED DUDE

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There’s a woman on a poster displayed at the post office nearest me. No, she’s not wanted by the FBI. She’s wanted by ME.

This mystery woman is on two posters (three, really, but two of them are duplicates) that are advertising the joys of stamp collecting. Well, I ain’t buying into the idea of joyful stamp collecting, but if anybody could sell me on it, this woman could.

These posters have been on display at the post office for as long as I can remember – that’s a number of years – and they are mounted on the walls underneath clear Plexiglas, above the post office boxes. I have never failed to take notice of this woman every time I’ve had reason to be in that building. Particularly when I’m alone there at night and can just stand there for a few unhurried minutes and study her face and imagine “what might have been” had I found her before the postmaster did.

Because these posters have been on display there for so long, and because they are located just below some fluorescent light tubes, the pictures are now faded. But that doesn’t prevent this girl’s beauty from shining forth.

In case anyone ever wondered what my type is, THIS is my type:

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Brown eyes, long dark hair, cute as a button, and very feminine. Heck, all I ever really wanted was a womanly woman who wouldn’t make me feel gay (but that type went out of style decades ago). This gal has it all, and she’s almost enough to turn a guy into a post office groupie!

I drove to the post office about eight o’clock last night with my Brother’s cell phone camera and a stepstool, so I could get up high enough to take a “STUFFS”-worthy photo of Miss Right the stamp collector. (Nothing’s too much trouble for my art!)

I was hoping to get the picture-taking done quickly and before anyone else entered the post office. Imagine trying to explain that: “Oh, Hi… uhm… Ha!... Well, I just have a thing for this girl, see? And… uh… well, I, uh… See I have this blog and uh… well, never mind. I gotta go; I’m late for the philatelic soiree”.

But fortunately, I did manage to get my pictures taken in time. Just as I was exiting the post office - stepstool in hand - a couple of other Airheadzonans were entering. Phew! That was cuttin’ it close.

Have you seen this beautiful mystery woman?

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Well? Have you seen her? If so, do tell! If I could just learn her address, I’d mail myself to her. Yeah, it would require a lot of stamps, but maybe she’d appreciate that.

In the meantime, if anyone’s lookin’ for me, tell ‘em they’ll find me at the post office, standing there gazing up longingly at my mystery gal and ignoring the old goat from the postal service who’s dogging me with cries of, “Alright, move along now! There’s nothing else to see here".

“Get away from me, postalboy. Ya bother me!”

Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm HERS.

Hmmm… Sometimes I’ve even wondered if Miss Stamp Collector is the ever elusive Emily.

Philatelically Yours,

~ Stephen T. McCarthy

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