Okay, I have a confession to make. I am the woman who stands in front of you in line at the post office, taking my own sweet time as I select just the right stamps for whatever I’m likely to be mailing. I understand that you have places to be and things to do and that this is the only post office in this small town, but I have my standards.
I went to the post office yesterday to mail a package to First Child at college, but while I was standing in line I got to admiring the posters advertising the new 2010 stamps. No flags here (okay, they do have some nice enough state flag stamps, but these still don’t float my boat). But they definitely had some good stuff. I figured I might as well replenish my stamp supply and spent my time in line trying to decide between the cats and dogs animal rescue stamps or the Lunar new year stamps. Or maybe the Katharine Hepburn stamps–very chic. Or maybe Cowboys of the Silver Screen. All good.
But then I saw them: abstract expressionist stamps. Gorgeous. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get a letter with a tiny little Jackson Pollock in the corner? Right? Art for only 44 cents.
I mailed my package and said, “And a sheet of the Abstract Expressionist stamps, please.”
The nice bearded guy behind the counter shook his head sadly.
My face fell.
“But,” he said, by way of cheering me up. “You wouldn’t have wanted them anyway. Most of them looked like somebody had dipped a chicken in paint and let it walk around on the canvas.”
“Some of those chickens,” I countered, “are very talented.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I still don’t want one hanging over my sofa.”
I may have to take a field trip to the next town over to see whether they have better taste.