I Can Hardly Believe It

     I dislike checking the snail mail almost as much as I dislike checking my voice mail. It's one of those things I usually resist doing until I absolutely must, or just let Patrick do it for me. Call me lazy if you want, but if it's serious enough now days, I'll expect to get it in a the form of text or email. I don't know why I did it, but on Monday I actually checked the mail without any coaxing. As it turns out I had something waiting for me.

Something small . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Something plastic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Something with my picture on it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Can you guess what it was? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

MY DRIVER'S LICENSE!

    A kind hearted woman found my driver's license on the bike trails somewhere in the park (exactly where I presumed it was), and actually took the time to pick it up, fold it neatly into a piece of personalized stationary with a note, and mail it to me. Of course I probably would have received it before going to New Orleans had my current address been updated, but it had to travel all the way to Belton, and then back to Plano before arriving to my current place of residence.

     Just to think, I could have saved myself hours of frustration had I either had a later planned trip, updated address, or just not have lost it at all! I also might not have had to carry around a wadded up piece of paper masquerading as a DL to New Orleans. But now instead, I have a hideous updated license that I had to needlessly pay money for on it's way.

 Bah-hum-bug!

   So, thank you Pam from Plano. Thank you for being so sweet and generous with your time to return my license. Thank you for relieving my mother's warning of identity theft, and thank you for proving that there are other worthy morally conscious humans out there. Maybe I'll try to make Martha Stewart proud and send you a thank you note. The old fashioned way.