An Open Letter (1)

To the woman at the grocery store who was working by the self-checkout lanes tonight,

Thank you for coming to my rescue. Thank you for not blaming me for making the machine not take my change. Thank you for not heaving a sigh and giving me that look that says "it's almost 10pm, I'm tired and I hate my job - can't you just put another dollar bill in?" Thank you for having a sense of humor about the damn thing not working. Most of all, thank you for opening up the machine and beating it into submission. Literally. You brightened my evening AND allowed me to efficiently dispose of two pesky pennies.

May life bring you many opportunities to hit uncooperative machinery.

Rent Them Pants

Outlet malls are the homes of black magic. I firmly believe this. How else is it possible to spend 2.5 hours and slightly less than $84 and go home with 2 pairs of perfectly fitting blue jeans (a major miracle in and of itself), 2 shirts (from a trendy boutique), and 3 Corel cereal bowls (to help fill out the extremely lopsided secondhand dish set your parents contributed when your roommate moved out and took all her dishes with her)?

I called my parents as I was on my way to the mall. My father, unfamiliar with the town of Wrentham (because lives in a different state), thought that I said "rent them." He asked if I would be renting my new pants. I told him I hoped not.