The post office often gets a bad rap. Long lines, grumpy workers, and ever-more-expensive postage. Despite this, I love snail mail: the little joy of opening up a card or package is one that I enjoy giving and receiving.
My grandma sent me cards every week when I was growing up, enclosing comics and a crisp dollar bill as “ice cream money.” In college, my roommates were often jealous: whenever the postman pulled up, there was always something for me. Perhaps some homemade cookies, or just a few magazine articles that my mom thought I might like. I always send postcards to friends when I visit a new place, and I’ve been “postcard pals” with a former lacrosse teammate for years now.
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