Thrice in the last week we’ve had our paper stolen. Each time we’ve called the Trib for a re-delivery, and each time they’ve been kind enough to oblige. Today our deliveryman waited at the door while we came down to pick up the re-delivery, then gave us his card, telling us to call if it happened again. It’s aggrevating that this is going on, but on the other hand, I’m secretly looking forward to the point—I think it’s after the third complaint—when the Trib starts including “DO NOT STEAL ME. I belong to Sandor Weisz” signs in each day’s delivery. Partly it’s because I like the idea of anthropomorphising a newspaper, but mostly it’s because I love sticking those signs to things around the house.
Onto what I stick them, in increasing order of amusement: leftovers; the cats; Sarah. No one said I wasn’t easily amused.