He is legendary in this house; his steps are stealthy and quick. You'd think that you'd hear him when he pulls up in the driveway, but his vehicle has a degree of silence and stealth that many secret agents would envy.

The brown suit is just a disguise, and we know it; what better way to disguise a ninja than as a UPS deliveryman? After all, they are friendly and harmless! How much can one fear a man whose job requires him to drive an enormous truck with no doors, while wearing the drabbest shorts known to man?Not to mention the socks pulled up, unfashionably, to his knees!

In your world, UPS men are pasty-skinned men in bad socks and orthopedic shoes, men who look down from their wind-tunnel truck cabs and wave at children in nearby cars. They are the harmless purveyors of heavy packaging. (Hey, Clark Kent was a reporter, and that seems an obvious little gambit to us now.)

In my world, it's a little bit different.

No matter the amount of begging, the UPS ninjas seem to enjoy using our house for practicing their stealth techniques. Never mind that they're delivering a very heavy package, virtually encrusted with stickers that say "Do not deliver without a signature!"—and contents worth a significant amount of money.

No, they turn off the engine at the stop sign and coast their way into our driveway, where they tiptoe toward the door, packages in hand. I'm usually in the house during the day, and if I know that we're expecting a package, I'll open the wooden door and leave just the storm door closed.

To everyone else—the mailman, various repair folk, and even the FedEx guys—such a situation indicates that Someone Is At Home and increases the likelihood that they will knock. Not the ninjas; for some reason they assume that by having the lights on, the door open, and music blaring….I do not wish to be disturbed. Therefore, they leave their happy packages by the door and tiptoe away. Most of the time, I never even see the truck pull up in the driveway.

When Jeff called this afternoon, he said that he'd been tracking our current package (a new remote control for one of our gadgets) and that it should be delivered today. I said that I would leave the wooden door open, but that our ninja would probably tiptoe to the porch, leave the package right by the door, wave to the cats, and slink away without even dreaming of ringing the doorbell.

So, of course, the delivery guy shows up after 5:30, after Jeff had arrived home. He rang the doorbell—and waited until Jeff answered it.

Apparently, the ninja only works normal business hours. Maybe the night shift isn't ninja-certified yet. Who knows?