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I grabbed my crotch.  Not for any real purpose, it’s just what I do when I think.  Hilarious female comics from the 80s would suggest that this is because the scrotum is where the male brain can be found.  This is not true.  This is where our second brain can be found.  We have a second brain in the groinal area and a normal brain in our heads.  When I need to think – like really need to think – I grab my crotch.  After all, two brains are better than one.

I stood there zombie-like cupping my balls and staring at the front door.  My hallway gazed at me unannounced, intrigued as to what had kept me in a trance-like state for the past ten minutes.  It was unaware that inside me a hive of activity was taking place.  Thoughts of anxiety were crashing against my skull as moments of bravery came and went without a whimper.

Finally my hand made a movement towards the latch.  The world outside felt a notion and waited squirrel-like for my emergence.  Time slowed as the electric pulse from my two brains sent a signal to my hand telling it to clench and turn.  My hand offered no resistance and did as it was told.
The cold air outside accepted the invitation and greeted my cheeks.  Lazy birdsong whispered through my ears.  Daylight announced itself onto my eyes.
I let my vision regard at first the sky, before moving to the pollution-worn houses opposite.  There I gazed as I inhaled a bucket full of air.  My hands gave my testicles another squeeze as I gathered the necessary bravery to look at my doorstep.
Nothing.

Nothing?  I checked the time.  11am.  He’s normally here by 10:30.  My brainwaves scattered to and fro.  I was no doubt confused until I realised that today of all days, he would be late.
I smiled a smile and rolled my eyes.
“What a silly billy,” I caught the eyes of a passing cat, “of course he’s gonna be late!”
The cat offered nothing, and instead chose to turn and show me its rectum.  I closed the door and went back in.

An hour went by.  I wiped the remains of my sandwich from my beard.  Roast chicken, mayonnaise and Wotsits.  I sometimes wonder if there will be anyone out there ever to rival my sandwich making skills and how long it will be until I’m internationally recognised.  I imagine one day I’ll get a knighthood or something.  But, of course, I don’t do it for that.

I decided now was the right time to open the door again and accept my fate.  The process happened without as much fuss.  I looked down at the doorstep.
Nothing.
Panic-stricken, I rushed back inside and clambering around trying to confirm the days date.
Tuesday 14th February 2012.
I stood and stared at the walls.  They offered no answers so I rushed outside and fell on my neighbour’s door.  The doorbell rang.  It was a rendition of Greensleeves.  I felt it completely unnecessary.
“Hi neighbour!” I bellied in before her face had even greeted me.
“Er, hi”
“Yeah, erm, I was wondering if you’ve had any post today.”
She regarded my twitchy demeanour, “Yeah, came about two hours ago.”
“Really?  I haven’t had mine.”  I gestured to my doorstep.  It was empty.
She gave a facial shrug.  “Perhaps you haven’t got any?”
I laughed very loudly.  She was obviously joking.  I bid her farewell with a wink.  Her look of confusion suggested I hadn’t done my inter-neighbour relationship any favours.

Back in my house I had reattached myself to my two brains in the hope of deciphering the conundrum of the missing postman.
Tuesday 14th February.  Valentines day.  And yet, I hadn’t received any post.  I was aware that the older you get the fewer cards you may receive, but none whatsoever?  Impossible.

Finally my two brains twitched into gear.  The reason why there is no post is because there is too much post.  It’s all gonna come in one big delivery.
As I sat, relief washed over me.  Thoughts gathered about how a double-decker truck would actually fit down my street.  But hey, that wasn’t my problem.  What was my problem was the arduous task of recycling all that card.

I gazed out the window in anticipation of my arrivals.  Across the street a man was checking his mail.  His face was littered with disappointment as all he handled were brown envelopes full of bills.  I looked him over and smiled to myself.  He wasn’t going to get any Valentines.  Some people are just plain disillusioned.

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