ASK POLLY
Get your advice from fast-talking media star Polly Gillespie
As life meanders along, it takes a special something to jolt me out of my malaise. Presently, my life consists of staying up too late bingewatching Netflix shows, eating too much Whittaker’s chocolate and writing when I get a sudden pang of guilt.
Last week, there was a ding dong on my intercom door thingie. I wasn’t expecting anyone. In my hibernation state, I have avoided a lot of people, unwilling to leave the comfort of my jimjams. (I really do need to get back to work, stat!)
“Hello?” I said in a quiet voice after pushing the button and knowing I was being broadcast on the street 11 storeys down. “Parcel for Polly!” A parcel for Polly? Had I ordered something I didn’t need again?
I asked the courier to please leave the parcel in the foyer.
After deciding it was perfectly alright to wear Peter Alexander pyjamas down to the real world, I journeyed out into the big, wild, bright day (note to self – wear sunglasses when leaving bat cave next time).
The parcel was there on the foyer counter. I picked it up and immediately sensed it was something that had been slightly damaged on its long journey. Returning to the safety of my apartment, I opened the courier bag. Inside was another bag that held the mystery treasure. There was a note from the mailroom at Woman’s Day saying, “Polly, this arrived for you. Not sure who it’s from. Enjoy!”
Inside were two things: A white chocolate bunny and a gold foiled-covered Easter egg. Both were ever so slightly broken. Another note, this time from a charming woman, who out of the kindness of her heart had sent me Easter goodies.
Times have changed so much. Getting a written note in the mail is such a rare occurrence. It’s charming, such a treat and a lift for my spirits. I thought about this grandmother picking out the eggs for me and then sitting down to write the note. I got happy tears in my eyes. What a wonderful show of affection. What a kind gesture. What a very special and personal act of love.
I searched the bag several times to see if there was a name and address. No such luck. I wanted to thank her personally and tell her how thrilled I was, not only with the chocolate treat, but more especially the time she took to write me a note. I put a picture up on Facebook in the hope that someone would recognise the writing. My Facebook friends are smarter than me. One switched on person asked, “Polly, why not mention it in your column? She obviously reads it!”
Of course! (I’m a bit slow with all the sleep and pyjamas, and lazing about eating chocolate.) Of course! That makes total sense. Sometimes I wonder if I can call myself an adult.d lt I’mI’ aboutb t as l logicali l as a Dalmatian puppy (very silly doggies).
So, mystery chocolate-treat sender, oh, great benefactor of yummy gifts and delightful notes, to you I say, “Thank you!” Thanks for warming my heart and reminding me of the pleasure of receiving a hand-written message in the mail. Thank you for thinking of me and then taking the action to actually physically show you care. So often I think to say thank you or tell someone they’re special, clever or wonderful, but you, Mrs Easter Bunny, actually did something. You made my year! Mystery giver of chocolate and love, thank you.