It has come to this. I am about to work for the post office. This is after their incompetence led to the destruction of an entire city and the death of Dirk Mudbrick. (That's how I see it, anyway.) Then I took a bunch of mail and threw it away. In front of the postmaster. Multiple times. While maintaining eye contact. And humming.
The upshot being, I do not have a warm relationship with the Shire Post. But if I want fancy dresses and expensive dye, then I need money. And if I want money I need a job. And this is the best job around.
Note that one of the terms of the job is that I can't be spotted by any Nosy Hobbits while doing a delivery. This is made somewhat more difficult by the fact that there are armies of the little buggers watching the roads day and night. This means that instead of using the nice open roads I have to wade into swamps, push through bramble bushes, tumble over cliffs, and sprint screaming through wolf dens. By the time I arrive the mail is covered in bite marks and blood, and smells like the ass end of a toad. But nobody saw me delivering it, which seems to be all that the post office cares about.