it's official: I'm in love

I've lived in Appalachia for two years, but today, for the first time, I finally got an eyeful of our friendly neighborhood postal worker-- the person who's been delivering my mail all this time.

Holy Christ, she's gorgeous!

When I think of a typical letter carrier, I imagine some paunchy, middle-aged dude in weird shorts, hefting a mail bag and carrying dog spray on his belt. Not this chick. Blonde and lithe, with piercing blue eyes, this amazing specimen wore form-hugging sweatpants and a thin uniform shirt that revealed every luscious curve of her exquisitely perfect physique. Oh, yes: I knew right away she was out of my league. And women who are that beautiful are doubtless (1) hyper-conscious of the Foucauldian Male Gaze and (2) aware of where they stand on the reproductive hierarchy. I, slobbering troglodyte that I am, did my best not to stare too openly.

Had I had my wits about me, I'd have taken a picture of her. A pic was the very first thing my buddy Mike demanded when I had initially tweeted about my new love.

So now this becomes a hunt-- a mission-- a jihad. It is henceforth my goal in life to provide you, Dear Reader, with proof that this luscious dollop of womanhood actually exists. I don't know quite how I'll manage this with just a cell phone camera, but I'm hopeful that this is doable. I did have enough presence of mind to note the time of the encounter: about 1:05 or 1:10PM on Friday afternoon. That datum might prove useful for, uh, stalking purposes.


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