God’s pricey son

For reasons that escape me, we still get a Sunday newspaper delivered, while the rest of the week we happily read the Boston Globe online. Every few Sundays, the paper comes with an empty envelope, pre-addressed to the delivery person. Once in a while I give in to this not-so-subtle request for a tip, and send the guy some money. It can’t be an easy way to make a living and it’s probably not the only thing he does.

The Sunday before Christmas, the envelope wasn’t empty. It had a holiday card and a printed insert that said, in part:

I’m going to make an educated guess here that English is not my delivery person’s first language and that he used a translation app. I had a good chuckle, put some cash in his envelope, and moved on to other things.

Over the next few days, I arranged tips for our letter carrier, the trash guys, the women who take care of my mom, and the house cleaners. The house cleaners are from Brazil and between the two of them, there is very little English. So, I did what my Globe delivery person did, I used a translation app.

I wanted to say, “Happy Holidays. Thank you for taking such good care of our home.” Google told me that in Portuguese that would be, “Boas festas. Obrigado por cuidar tão bem de nossa casa.” I wrote those words on the cards, and added some cash.

I wonder what I actually said to them.