As I've said, there is now no incentive to get back to the post office early. Therefore, I find my poor customers edging away from me while I shout into the rapidly closing door, "Come back, I've got a story that's even longer." It may just be coincidence, but so many of them have asked about my retirement plans that it's starting to hurt my feelings.
I'm reading Bill Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words. It's a source of some pride when I know the right meaning of a word, but it's much more often humbling that I don't, or worse, I don't even understand the trouble. I'm pretty sure, though, that my customers, and their doors in the preceding paragraph have some sort of disagreement about how many there are of each (if I'm using that correctly; "each" has its own entry in the book).