If you don't get a card that you thought we should've sent you, just assume it's in Dave's back seat

I had a package and two cards that needed to be mailed last week, and Dave generously said he'd take them to the post office for me. What a swell guy.

So, Saturday when I asked him if he wanted to take the dog on a walk with me, the shifty look on his face made me question his sincerity.

"Why not?"

"I, um, sort of have to um, go to the post office."

Hm.

"The post office? Why?"

"I kind of didn't mail those packages yet."

"The ones I thought you'd mailed Wednesday?"

"Yeah. Those."

"Dave, one was a card for my dad. His birthday was YESTERDAY."

"I know! I'm sorry. They're in my car ..."

"Why didn't you just tell me? I could've gone to the post office myself."

"I didn't want to get yelled at."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Not so well."

Oh, he's so cute. I could just scream he's that cute.

So my mom's birthday's next week. I think I'll just take the card to the post office myself, because, well, what fun is getting a card a week later, after I'm already worked back out of the Circle of Trust. There are jars of jelly and cookies in it for me, ya know.