What Letter?

August 23, 2009

John’s first task on that cold, blistery, winter day was to shovel heavy snow that had fallen on the front walk.
Preparing for the work ahead, he took a rather heavy silk scarf from his closet and placed it around his neck. Buttoning up his top coat he reached for his fedora and new leather gloves. Remembering the letter he had to mail, he paused to pick it up from the front entrance table. John liked to have everything planned and organized. So far today his life was on schedule. He felt good.
With a smile he opened the door and faced mother nature. Picking up the shovel he began clearing snow. He slowly made his way to the sidewall.
It was time for a cigarette, he thought. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the packet and lighter, along with the letter. Balancing the shovel under his left arm he tucked his gloves under the other. Holding the letter up in front of his face he tried to shield the flame of his lighter from the wind. A cloud of blue grey smoke emanated from the cigarette in his hand and fanned out behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he called back a greeting to his next door neighbour as he deposited the letter into the box.
Again raising his hand to place the cigarette to his lips he found not the cigarette there but the letter. The letter! What had he just dropped into the mail box?
Furtively he looked over his shoulder verifying there were no witnesses. Dropping the shovel, cigarette package, lighter, and his new leather gloves he quickly scooped up handfalls of snow and dumped them into the endangered mailbox. There he remained peeking, scooping, and dumping, peeking, scooping, and dumping, for several minutes.
Not wanting to be found out he stealthily moved away from the disturbing situation and escaped down the street. He nervously stopped at the next mailbox and deposited the letter.
Returning home, he quickly shed his outer wear and stationed himself at the front window. Rubbing his numb hands together he realized he had left his expensive kid leather gloves on the sidewall in front of the mailbox. He could be traced as the culprit. Once more he donned his boots & coat, slipped out of the house, and retrieved the evidence. Guilt flooding his soul he sped for the protection of his home.
For the next hour, he kept a close watch on the little red box on the corner. Fortunately the snow had put out the cigarette. However, could anyone read the ink blotched water soaked envelopes?
The next snow fall wasn’t greeted by John in the same fashion as the previous one. A wool toque covered his head; wool knitted gloves covered the hands that held only a shovel. His pockets were empty of cigarettes. John had finally succeeded in giving up the habit. No one could say he was the owner of the soggy cigarette found ten days ago in the mail box along with the illegible envelopes. No sir! He wasn’t a smoker.
John, hospitalized for a urinary tract problem, had to produce a sample of his urine for testing every day. Consequently a close watch was kept on the amount of liquid he ingested. His dislike of juice, especially apple juice, soon forced his creative mind into action.
A young, attractive nurse on morning duty insisted he drink every drop of the measured fluid. Not to be undone, John decided one day to rid himself of the problem by pouring his morning apple juice into a sterilized specimen bottle.
Just before Doctor’s Rounds the unsuspecting nurse went into John’s room to collect his morning specimen. Examining its appearance, she commented, “It looks a bit cloudy to-day.”
With a concerned look on his face he leaned over and retrieved the bottle from her hand, studying it for a moment. Much to the horror of the startled young nurse, he opened the container saying;
“Oh well, lets recycle it” and he drank its contents.
At that moment the doctors arrived for their morning rounds. Entering John’s hospital room they were met by a hysterical nurse and a relaxed, happy patient. The traumatized nurse, unable to speak, beat a quick retreat from the room.


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