The Post Office

I love to write. Especially letters on pretty stationary with a pen that writes smoothly. (I am picky about my office supplies. I think they call it OCD.)



I really love everything about writing letters. I love picking out the stationery, choosing a special pen, organizing my thoughts on paper, and mailing it at the post office. My favorite part of the whole letter writing process, though, is the stamps. I love original and unique stamps- not those ubiquitious flags that everybody uses to send their bills. No. I love stamps of scenes, and people, and flowers, and old movies. LOVE IT.



I went to the post office the other day to mail some letters, and pick up some stamps. Granted, it had been a long day, a long week, a long month. And it was raining, which makes a day that. much. worse. I was flustered and overwhelmed and tired by the time I had made it to the post office. All I wanted to do was get it in, buy some pretty stamps and mail my letters so I could get home eat my weight in brownies.



I walk in, waiting patiently in line, busily distracting myself with photos of people that were wanted in my state. By the time I reach the counter, my mind is a bit fuzzy from staring at images of strange, creepy looking men, and I begin to think that one is actually my neighbor. Which he isn't.



ANYWAY.



I reach the counter and try to articulate that I needed the special edition lighthouse stamps. Except, evidently my mouth did not get the memo. What I intended to say and what came out were two entirely different things.



I wanted to say, "Do you still carry the special edition lighthouse stamps?"



But, instead, I said,
...................................."Do you carry stamps?"



Oh. my. word.


That poor woman. She looked at me as if I had gone completely out my mind crazy.



I am the reason why we have disgruntled postal workers.