Because I was at Costco this afternoon, and I purchased 100 postage stamps. Yes, just like that. "Madam, here is my 43 dollars and change, I would like to purchase the power to mail one hundred things, please." All through my twenties and early (okay and mid) thirties, it was a hand-to-mouth, devil-may-care, one book of stamps at a time existence. Honestly, I never knew where my next 20 stamps was coming from. Sometimes I bummed them from people. I did whatever I had to do, piecing together the postage from random old sheets of stamps, two-cent ones, thirty-seven cent ones, I didn't care. Then online bill payment came along and I practically never needed stamps at all. But the good times don't last, do they?
Actually, I still don't need stamps that often, so what I've purchased is basically a lifetime's supply of franking.
Franking. That's really what it's called.
And they're those Forever stamps (in a lovely holiday evergreen pattern), so I expect to make money off of this deal as postal rates climb. I am all about the long play.
Also at Costco: I had it in my head that I needed to get Laura some of those off-brand Uggs they have there. Now, she hadn't asked for them, but when the weather turns chilly, I want to cover the world in Uggs. Everything I see looks like a foot needing a boot to me, like when Sylvester looks at Tweety and sees him browning on a tiny rotisserie.
You see, the weather has only just gotten coldish here. Every year I set a goal of waiting until November 1 to turn on the heat in our house, but I've never made it. Until this year. We haven't needed the heat yet, I'm pretty sure because of something that Al Gore did, but the last few mornings, I am weakening as it hovers around 60 in the house. The family has already gathered around for Ugg Day, the ritual encasing of my feet in shearling boots. We shall not see those feet until late March. So my thoughts have turned to warm things and making warmness, and Laura's possibly chilly feet seemed like a perfectly good reason to drive over to Costco, and Hank and I set off.
Their selection was somewhat picked over, but Hank, my shopping wing man, held my purse as I crawled inside the tower of boxes looking for the right size. I had to re engineer the pile so it wouldn't topple onto us, and every box had to be turned a different way. Hank kept offering to move or lift things for me. Then I went around to the other side of the aisle--you know how they have everything stacked warehouse style--and tunneled through a bunch of Fruit-by-the-Foot cases to get to the back of the boot stack. Hank said, "I'll move those foot snacks for you Mom." I swear, I see in him the beginnings of gallantry. He always wants to be my strong helper.
So I was very occupied with helping him help me, bending down, and examining every frankin' box of boots, and realized, too late, that I was treating all of the other patrons to some major coin slot.
What else went on since we last spoke? Just matronly things. I've taken Laura to her new swim team practice thrice, I have prepared a number of adequate meals, and I have generally done the things necessary for basic family survival. Also I had a rich inner life.
Tomorrow morning we are going to dash up to NC to meet some friends and stay Saturday night at the mountain house. Should be freezing at night up there. But that won't bother us, because of our ugg feet. Yes I got Laura some and I got myself another pair too. Yes I already have some, oh stop it. I am a grown woman with much postage.
Back in a flash, lovers.