Most letters begin with "Dear," but Newman, you and I both know that would be stretching it.
We've had our ups and downs. Mostly downs. We've had our disappointments. Mostly mine.
The time has come when I feel we must make amends. This enmity between us has affected the lives of my loved ones and it breaks my heart.
Over the years I've scoffed at your profession. The late mail and damaged packages. The tracking system which is just a ruse. Your attitude. Your little truck... okay I never made fun of that.
Alas, I set aside all of my unused two-cent stamps and my grievances and reach out to you with one request.
Please deliver my daughter's valentine.
Her grandmother sent it over two weeks ago. She wrote legibly and didn't use a red envelope. Still, the valentine (and the twenty tucked inside) are somewhere out there in Postal World. Lost. Lonely. Torn. (Man, I hope not.)
In the spirit of St. Valentine and all the other Hallmark holidays, let's call a truce. A little girl and her piggy bank are waiting.
I'll be at the mailbox at our usual time. You know the place.
P.S. You'd better not be spending that twenty on root beer and TV Guides.