a letter to my mail carrier

I am home pretty much every day. All day. I don't leave often. Today I did - to go to the post office. Twice. The first time was for stamps. The second time was because I checked my mail on the way back into my building and found a delivery notification slip. Dated last Thursday. Not only was I home then, but I've checked the mail since. The only day you could have made the attempted delivery is yesterday, when - you guessed it - I was home. This means that you didn't actually attempt anything, just left a back-dated slip and hoped I wouldn't notice. Look, I'm lazy too. The stamps I bought were for Thank You notes for wedding gifts. I am barely inside the one-year allowance. But this isn't about me. It's about your apparent refusal to punch three numbers (my apartment number, on the package) into the intercom and tell me I have a package. That's all the extra work required of you. I wouldn't dream of asking you to come up to my apartment unless I were terribly ill. I always make the trek to the front hall (and it is a trek), because I don't think other people's mail should be held up on my account. Have I mentioned that this is a birthday gift? That's right, your lack of interest in calling me on the intercom could potentially have ruined my birthday. Yes, I am being overly dramatic. You know why? This happens every year around the first week of July. What's up with that?