In honor of Shakespeare’s birthday, here is my favorite sonnet. Rob might recite this to me one day (with a pedal on the ground and an instrument in hand?) *wink*
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
This morning I went to the post office. I thought everything was going well until a woman came by and gave me some forms. I filled them out contemplating on whether or not she had given me the correct ones.
I approached the front of the line and noticed a gentleman doing rounds. I asked him if I had the right stuff. “No,” he replied. He handed me the correct pair of forms. I had to fill these in at lightening speed so I wouldn’t lose my spot in line. As I finished filling in the last box, I was called. I went down to the window and presented my mail.
WTF! My mail is not ready to be sent. The forms are not attached to the envelope. “STEP ASIDE!” The woman at window four demands. I argue that it would only take a few seconds to attach them, but she calls the next person in line and repeats, ”Step aside.”
So, I attach them and wait. The customer finishes and I pop my head back in her window. She inspects my forms and says, “You have to put the address here.”
“But it says for OFFICIAL USE ONLY,” I argue.
“No, not down HERE,” she replies and points to the tiniest fking box below the OFFICIAL ONLY section. Having already put the address to where it was being sent in FOUR other boxes, I now have to do this again! She makes me step aside once more so I can fill in the address, which takes all of five seconds. Then, I wait…again.
I approach the window once the customer leaves, but she has already called another person! I put my hand up to that person and say, “I’ve been waiting here, she knows it’s my turn.” He repeats that window four called him. I ignore this and shove my mail through the window. I feel bad that I’ve had to resort to rudeness. But, where am I? The post office. What day is it? Tax Day. Sometimes the situation calls for desperate measures.
She finally processes my mail and hands me the confirmation slips. I pay and as soon as she hands me my receipt, she brings her gate down and walks away from her seat.
This all happened at 10:30 am. If she thinks that’s bad, I can’t imagine what the afternoon holds for her.