In the rear

So I live in a house that was converted into three apartments, one downstairs and two upstairs. The upstairs apartments are designated 2-F, for front, and 2-R, for rear.

I live in the rear. Which is a source of endless amusement to certain people in my life, such as my dear friend KBH, who guffaws in her special way while ribbing me. Also my dear sister, Dr. Moo, who tried to send me two birthday cards this year. The first, which featured a wiener dog giving an uncomfortable come-hither look while laying in a bed meant for humans, arrived. Most of my address was written in normal-sized letters. Except for the word "rear" which was in ALL CAPS.

Ah me.

The second card never arrived. Word to the wise: If, when addressing an envelope, you try to turn one of the "Rs" in "rear" into a butt, and the zero in the zip code into a piece of poop, thereby creating the charming effect of a disembodied fanny doing what fannies do, your mail will be "returned to sender."