So, this morning, I SLEPT IN, which was glorious. Then, we went to get bagels and coffee and had a lovely morning. Until Andrew and I decided to tackle some errands this morning, including returning a very overdue library book, the bank and most exciting the post office and the grocery store.
First of all: the post office. The freaking post office, Land of Frustration. Seriously, it’s up there with the DMV in terms of ridiculous people both in line, and behind the counter. I came in with a lot of crap to mail, so I expected a bit of a struggle; however, I anticipated that I’d at least be able to send some of them with the automated machine, sans interaction with the postal employees. I boxed up one set of crap, printed a label and then tried to do the rest. NO DICE. This alone was quite a feat: imagine me with 11 packages, 1 big box, a coffee and my iPhone, purse, etc. trying to write a label and get everything else in order. Not pretty, folks. I finally printed a label, stuck it on the box and then tried to stick it in the mailbox. THE MAILBOX WAS LOCKED. By the way, I think it should be noted here that Andrew stood there and LAUGHED AT ME while I was freaking out about boxes and labels and printing out a bajillion pieces of postage, to the point where I asked him to go outside and just wait, lest I start cutting him with the tape dispenser.
I finally hauled all my crap into the huge line, where an old lady in front of me kept talking to the air about how she was mailing something to her granddaughter, some tights or some such. I had to stop listening.
Anyways, I finally got up to the counter, and the clerk took my box, and said, “First, you’ve got the wrong box. Second, the label is wrong. Third, it’ll just come back to you because you did it all wrong, so you can just get back in the line after you fix your box.”
That’s when I started to lose my damn mind so I said, through clenched teeth, “Can you please, please, please help me?”
And he did. And $30 later, I mailed off my 14 things. Am I the ONLY PERSON who just doesn’t get the damn post office? The clerk was incredulous that I didn’t know which box was the proper box and how I printed the label wrong, and that’s without seeing the “cushioned mailer” I ripped and abandoned out in the prep area because it wasn’t big enough and I couldn’t find a label and despite being an educated, reasonable intelligent human, I CANNOT COMPREHEND HOW TO USE THE POST OFFICE. This wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t hate waiting in line and dealing with the condescending people behind the counter. .
This brings me to my second point: Andrew and I are not good co-shoppers for groceries. Mostly because he insists on asking me about every single thing I purchase. “Why cabbage?” or “Why baking soda?” Listen, if you’re not the one who does the cooking, than let me purchase what I need. Sometimes, I just like knowing I have butter or baking powder or whatever the hell for those little baking excursions. Plus, we fight over the apples and the produce and which order to get things in and oh my goodness. Typically, Andrew does all the grocery shopping, but then on my breaks we get this hair-brained idea that going together would be so! much! fun! but then, by the end, we basically hate each other, and we forget the orange juice and a million other things because we’re too busy arguing about what to get.
By the time we left the post office and the library, I felt like this kid (note: WAIT FOR THE GOOD PART. YOU’LL KNOW IT WHEN YOU SEE IT):
Still, the entire morning was redeemed by this afternoon, which has so far consisted of a pumpkin bagel, snuggling on the couch and watching “Away We Go” for the second time. It really is the best movie I’ve seen all year, so if you haven’t seen it, DO IT. DO IT NOW. It has served as a reminder that even though he giggles at me stressing out over the post office, we will always have kisses in the kitchen and at the very least, we can laugh and laugh and laugh.