The Driver's Name is Todd

 

When it is 86° out, it is 119° inside the mailbox.

There was one case of a postcard showing a picture of an ice cream cone.  It had actually melted onto my acceptance letter from Harvard.  All blurry and smudged, there was no way it could be read.  Everyone tried to tell me it wasn’t an acceptance but a "We regret to inform you" letter.  To this day the jury is still out.

Several years ago, during an extremely hot spell, a Sears catalog in the mailbox burst into flames.  The tractors on page 1118 actually exploded.

That was the year I discovered that cutting vent holes to let the heat out also let the rain in.  It was the rain that destroyed my Princeton acceptance letter.  I think I really could have done well there.

Last year I tried to fool the system, and I had Eric apply to Stanford for me.  All I got back was a hand-written note saying "Zobostic doesn’t apply himself"   How did they know?

Maybe I’ll work on a new application and send it to Yale.  I just need to look on a map and see where that is. Hopefully it is along the bus route and I can just hop on the #3 bus.  I know the driver and he doesn’t always insist on exact change.

I wonder how much tuition is…  maybe I could pay a little each month.

I can tell, some of you don't believe
the ice cream on the postcard melted all
over my letter.
Now why would I make that up?