One day, a new hand appeared, a fleshy, flashy hand. One that had long red nails, that he was sure was fake. The color offensive to his more natural tastes. He opened his door, looking at the women before him. He first checked her right hand, he saw no bump. He had assumed as much. Where was his writer?
"Where is the girl who usually delivers these?" He asked the woman, taking in her other features. The long, blonde, hair. Her slim, tight body.
She smiled, her teeth colgate white. "She quit. I guess she got a book deal of some sort."
He nodded, "Thank you."
Back in his office, he mulled over what to do. He knew the new girl was attractive, he'd enjoy thinking about her every day too. But she held no depth, no mystery. He also knew he probably wouldn't get as much work done with her around. He knew what he'd do, he'd find his bump girl. He'd get her name from Human Services and send her flowers.
The next day, early morning, he ran into H.S. There was a mousy girl, pretty enough with long brown hair, sea green eyes. He stared at her while she talked to the desk clerk, waiting for his turn. He watched her sign her name, those hands. It registered, but he had to have a closer look. He faked a sneeze and bent slightly down. There was the bump. It was her. He looked over the rest of her, her loose, flowing dress, he assumed covered an average body. She smiled at him, and nodded goodbye to both him and the clerk. Then she walked out the door. He just stared after her.
"Did you need something sir?" The clerk asked.
He shook his head, "No, I've already gotten what I needed."
"Is your new mail girl working out for you?" The clerk asked as he was about to leave.
He nodded almost ashamed of himself, "Yes, she's perfect for me."