They're all crazy...

The invitations went out today.

The invitations went out today.

The invitations went out today.

I heard somewhere that if you repeat things in your mind that are bothering you, all the while practicing a normal in through the nose out through the mouth breathing technique, it is a way of easing your tension.

Absolutely incorrect.

Whoever the person is who decided this, was dead wrong. When you repeat the things in your mind that bother you, they bother you MORE. I would like to hunt down this Psycho fraud and have him repeat, “I am a non-educated jackass, who created an idea that has no merit. I should be disbarred from psychology, sociology, and overall “smartology” and thrown to the wolves”. Say that over and over. Jerk.

I’m not stressed. Just a bit nervous that’s all. You know nervous like the night before Open Heart Surgery. Or nervous like when you first lean in to kiss a girl and realize you forgot to brush your teeth this morning. Basically, you have waited and waited until every possible thing is perfect for that kiss and thus plunged yourself into a state of hope. Well hope just got crushed by the United States Postal Service. The USPS has done nothing wrong to me, but I hate them nonetheless.

We took our 150 invitations to the post office today with explicit directions to ask to “hand cancel” them. Hand canceling basically means that you can hold the little ink stamp thing yourself and stamp each invitation with painstaking perfectness. Easy enough right? Nope. I had heard horror stories of other folks going in and asking to do “the procedure” and being turned away with full force by the Postal Drill Sergeant. Men and women alike fell to their knees in tears and were painstakingly made to watch the PDS (Postal Drill Sergeant) seize their invitations and rub off the incredibly expensive and meticulously written calligraphy. Months of effort down the drain at the hands of a woman who obviously was straight out of the “The Shining” rather than the Post Office.

We arrived. We discussed our plan of action, and talked ourselves up. You know, you say things like, “Hey, we’re being ridiculous. It’s a post office after all. They are here to help us. They want our invitations to arrive nicely as it reflects on them. Let’s pull ourselves together here”.

With confidence in tow, Sar and I walked the “The Green Mile” into the building. As we entered, I think I saw a man come out with tears in his eyes, murmuring something about Drill Sergeants and baby announcements, but I quickly made myself believe that it was just allergies causing his teary misfortune. The rumors of the PDS were unfounded and flat out bogus. Right?

We waited. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 12 minutes of supreme stress, listening to the three clerks say things like, “Would you like insurance for this package”? Or “Is there anything fragile or pliable in the package”? I kept thinking, “Insurance for the package? How about life insurance as my heart is beating so fast it feels like that of a contestant on a Bobby Flay “Throw Down” episode. (Food channel folks, get with it.) I swear I could have knocked out the person in front of me with the thumps that were coming from my sternum. I would be dead at 27, in line at the post office. Could be worse, I guess. I could have died when we got the initial floral bid. Lucky for me, Sar was there to revive me after my heart actually stopped. I love that girl, lifesaver that she is.

Then it happened. We saw her in the flesh. The PDS. Of the three clerks, she was obvious. Tight uniform, short-cropped hair, and piercing crimson eyes. I nearly melted into the floor like a groom version of the “Wicked Witch”. You don’t know this about me, but I am the unluckiest person in the universe. So, I figured of course we would get the PDS and not either of the other two smiling happy clerks.

Sarah and I had practiced our speech before hand. Once arriving at the counter, we would both put on dazzling smiles and then explain to them that we have known each other for 20 years and that we are getting married and that we love each other and that we really do deserve the power of the ink stamp. We moved gingerly up closer and closer to the impending doom.

And then there was light…

Like a shift in my unlucky universe, the nice postal man next to PDS called for us to come on up. Thank you universe, I owe you immensely.

I immediately began stuttering my words, until something truly weird came out of my mouth. It sounded like below.

“Yes, hi there, sir, hello. We have, I mean my fiancé and I have, I mean we have 100 or so letters to mail. Can you help? I mean of course you can, you are the post office (weird giggle and smile). I really would like, I mean we would like to hand cancel them. Can we do that? Please, I would like to do that if possible, I mean we would like to do that…”

He looked, he smiled, and he gave us the coveted ink stamp. I am so smooth people, I sometimes scare myself. Off we went stamping and sorting, sorting and stamping. It all finally went off without a hitch thanks to our postal knight in shining armor. And to think, I was scared of little miss PDS. Alone I may be a baby, but together with Sar and with a firm grasp on the English language during clutch time, I certainly rise to the occasion...