I love it when you still have your Christmas lights up in February.
I love it when you call in the middle of a freak snowstorm to tell me that, no, you aren't going out of town any more because of the terrible weather, but could I please drop everything I'm doing to come and bring you a paper?
I love your motion detector lights that blind me daily: especially the kind the shut off after about four seconds, so they get me entering AND leaving your driveway.
I love it when you wait by the door for a Sunday paper that arrives at four minutes after six. I love it even more when you slam the door so sweetly as soon as I step off the porch.
I know that occassionally I miss delivering your paper, and when I do, I really love it when you call up and tell me all of your morning routine habits--it helps drive home just how much I have messed up your day.
Ooo . . . and when I tell you I'll get that paper right out to you, as soon as I finish feeding my baby and putting my son on the bus, I love it when you act really put out about that. The deep sighing and stern voice is almost enough to make me leave my little kiddies at home to fend for themselves so that you can read the obituaries.
I love it when you leave me a dollar tip every six months. But even more wonderful is when you don't tip at all. That's my favorite.
I love this bumper sticker on your car.
I love walking fifty yards down your driveway and then tenderly placing your paper under the rock, or behind the screen, or in the homemade box you have. Please, never put a paper tube under your mailbox on the road, I love you just the way you are.
I love it when you call me up and tell me your conspiracy theory about the lone jogger (or is there a second jogger?) who has been routinely stealing your paper off and on for years. I especially appreciate the advice to slide it WAY back into the tube so that it isn't so obvious and tempting for a casual passer-by. And I will most certainly let you know if I see any suspicious characters.
I love when you call me to deliver a late paper, but then call the newspaper to complain anyway. That. Is. Awesome.
I love it when you go out of town two or three times in a month, stopping and starting your paper each time. It makes it so easy to keep track of you. I also love the security light you leave on when you are out of town: I'm sure that is a great deterrent.
But even more than cancelling your paper for a few days, I love it when you ask me to save them in a bag. Especially if you are out of town for more than a week. Nothing makes me happier than keeping 17 of your out-of-date newspapers in my trunk, longing for your return.
Mostly, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou for being a tiny part of my life every morning between 3:20 and 5:35.