“Ah, yes, those long, romantic walks to the post box.” “What in God’s name is the post box?” “Where the post goes.” “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” “The mailbox,” he said wryly. “It’s a post box in the UK.” I did a double-take. “Why would you call the mailbox a post box?” “Because the post box is where the post goes.” Isaac stopped. “You’re looking at me like I’m reading you a Chinese takeaway menu in French.” “What’s a takeaway?”
