When the paper is in my driveway on Sunday morning...
Bluebirds and robins appear, the weather is great, perhaps a breeze in the air, my coffee tastes perfect, breakfast is delicious and in my ear i can hear Lionel Ritchie and the boys singing Easy.
When the paper isn't in my driveway on Sunday morning...
Ants invade my kitchen, humidity exceeds 100%, a stink fillls the air doubtless from some River Road petro-chemical disaster, my coffee is cold, all we have is oatmeal and NPR is doing some bizarre tribute to Helen Reddy.
Four out of the last five Sundays have been the latter, and i'm tired of it. The game goes like this, call the Times before 10:00 am to report your missing paper and they'll get one out to you by 2:00 pm. At least twice this "sympathy" delivery contains two copies of the paper. So voila, Amy and i each have our own personal copy to read in the middle of the afternoon. Sometimes we get no paper, or a Sunday paper on Monday, it's always interesting and never as fulfilling as the rare ontime no-phonecall needed delivery.
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