The Postman Always…wishes he didn’t have to come to our house at all.

The prankster in our house, AKA The Husband, has a lively mind. So lively, in fact, that he spends a fair amount of time trying to keep himself amused in unconventional (though mostly legal) ways. Reference last week’s What’s in its cabinetses, Precious? for example.

Another private joke of his is to meticulously fill out bulk mail surveys, creating unusual identities for pretend people, just to see what mail will come back to which of the fictional residents of our house. Among the best:

B. Hive
Haywood Jabiteme
L. S. Poryorrik (think Shakespeare…Hamlet…)
P. P. Pizzy Quackypanda (This one’s my personal favorite, for its sheer insanity. You would think someone in quality control would ax any letter that begins “Dear P. P. Pizzy”)

There have been days when our mailman has had to deliver more mail to these imaginary reprobates than to the living, breathing human beings who actually reside here. Between this stuff and the pounds and pounds of college brochures we received over the last five years, it’s a wonder he hasn’t declared postal fatwa upon our family. Or maybe, just maybe, B. Hive and pals bring a little smile to his delivery day. Yes, that would be nice. Let’s go with that.