What Up, Shawty?
Well. Christmas is in a week which seems hard to believe. We’re behind our usual level of preparedness and I can only assume that gifts I purchased for Andrea are making their way to our home on the back of a tortoise. I do hope the tortoise picks up the pace and they arrive this week.
I’m okay with being behind - November took its toll what with Wrigley passing, the leak in our ceiling and in my tire, working to push the cottage renovation to a close, & working to market and sell my book. The presale for my book closes today and I’m not sure who will be happier - me or the poor bastards who have had to put up with me working it. Sorry, poor bastards. And thank you.
Last week, the marketing specialist I work with mentioned extending the presale. I like this man a lot but but initial reaction was to think, “Extend this.” As I used an imaginary crank to extend my middle finger.
Last week was not my best. I had a bit of an outburst at work (I’m still employed) that I now know was related to PMS rather than a complete psychotic break. Perhaps I should track these things, then I’d know to try to avoid conversations for 2-3 days a month. Maybe next year?
Due to our aforementioned behind-ness related to Christmas, we got up early and hastily assembled our Christmas cards and packages for shipping. We made it to the post office with approximately 10-minutes to spare & 2 rolls of packing tape but no pen which we had intended to bring. Andrea went back to the car to grab a pen and the postal worker told me to step into the post office from the lobby because she was locking the door. I pointed at Andrea, in the parking lot, and said, “Oh! She’s just grabbing a pen!”
“I have a pen.” The worker replied. The worker takes no shit. Her face betrays no emotion and her voice is monotone. She locks the door and resumes her place behind the counter.
A man in front of me in line asks the clerk if she has any help. Personally, I find this question pointless. If she does, they are obviously working in the back. He announces that another post office is open until 1 PM, says he’s going there and wishes us luck. It’s 10 minutes until 1 so I personally think his thinking process is flawed but it’s one less person in front of me so see ya later, bub.
Andrea tries the door and the line of customers choruses, “It’s locked.”
A woman reaches the register and holds a roll of tape up, “Can I use this? It’s just sitting here.”
“We have tape!” Andrea and I offer in unison. The clerk seems resigned and lets the customer use the tape although clearly it’s for sale.
The woman in front of us sings through the line and is pretty cheerful. She reaches the front and the tired clerk coaxes her through the screens and tells her to put her card in.
“I used to come in here a lot!” The customer says. “Do you remember me?!”
“I remember you.” The clerk says, not warmly.
We finally reach the counter and Andrea acknowledges she has heard the spiel - signaling that she won’t give the woman any trouble.
“Do you ask if there is anything liquid, fragile or perishable in your sleep?” Andrea quips.
A smile or something flickers across the woman’s face. Boxes are piled everywhere.
The clerk reapproaches the counter, makes direct eye contact with me, and asks, “What up, Shawty?”
I stare at her a bit incredulous, eyes widening and she mumbles, “I was talking to..”
Andrea looks at me, “Thought you had a reputation from hanging around the post office.”
A burst of laughter pops out of me and I involuntarily swat Andrea’s leg, this time, even the clerk seems amused. When we get back to our car, Andrea laughs so hard and I join her.
“Why do I have a rubber band around my wrist?” Andrea mutters, removing it.
“Was it to remember something?” I offer helpfully.
“No - I’m not Uncle Billy!” Andrea says, referencing the movie It’s a Wonderful Life.
We were going to go to the cottage today to finish some loose ends there but then I remember that we do have time off coming up and it makes more sense to do it then when we aren’t harried and rushed, and when our last blinds.com order has arrived along with a few other things. So we stayed home and lost power just as Andrea has settled into watch soccer and I logged into a call. This made Andrea VERY grouchy. I suspect she too is stricken by PMS but it seemed a dangerous time to mention this. I drove her to an antique shop that I follow on Instagram that had a picture of a dog that looked a lot like Wrigley.
This particular shop just so happens to be located next to a brew pub where Andrea could resume watching the game. The power came back on at our place as Argentina won.
Speaking of balls (soccer, people, stay with me), Tyson was neutered on Friday. I feel he was Knicked in the Nick of time. I also hope this ends up being a relationship enhancer between him and Bogart, who still (!) frequently hisses at Tyson.