To Whomever it is/was that designed the miasma, the horrific headache, of cul-de-sacs, pain-in-the-sacks and chaos of suburban "streets" with quaint names with twinnish names in Court formation bending off and bending off into oblivion.
Why.
Why not think in terms of the tried & true grid. Blocks. Streets with names of substance. Relevant to location.
Not Poofery Splendour Way, doglegged off of Poofery Splendour Court, for the love of Urban Planning.
Needless, I think, to say/write, I spent the better part of an HOUR this evening trying (stubbornly refusing to resort to the ol' cell phone appendage for a whine of assistance) to find a locale, a client's home. I meandered and re-meandered looking for a certain #36.
And then I realized this very important realization.
The planners of said sub-sub-sub-division, nestled into former wetlands near sinking Middling City U, decided it best to have all mailboxes on one side of the street/court/cul-de-sac to facilitate strongarmed and righthanded delivery.
So a mailbox offering up a #35 blocked the destination's mailbox. And so on.
Now a memory floats to the surface, like a fiber-based masterpiece in Dektol:
Fanny, the Poland Spring postmistress, who had perfected the art of delivery from her K-Car, leg stretched over the car's median hump to allow her the requisite right-armed delivery. Irascible, chain-smoking and intrepid Fanny.
Intrepid Postal Love.