Expectations are a funny thing. They can dictate happiness.
In days of old (during the cave man era) I used to mail order some clothes. I especially loved Lands End. Dependable quality and sizing. Lots of color choices. I would etch my order on a stone, send it off with the nearest dinosaur and maybe a month later a box would come. It would be like Christmas.
Dinosaurs morphed into brown trucks and stones morphed into thin slices of trees they called paper. Still it took a month to get a box.
I was happy. It was a joyous day (mostly because I didn’t remember what I had ordered!)
Fast forward to now. Mysterious transmissions through air and almost simultaneous boxes appearing on the porch. It was a miracle. It could get addictive. In those old days it wasn’t just a touch. It required real work. Using pen and words. Being sure to get the sizing right. Deciphering if the color midnight was navy or black (and what on earth is pumice?). We worked hard for this miracle.
I recently ordered something from one of my old standbys. It’s been fifteen days and there is no box on the porch. I don’t live in a porch piracy area so it’s unlikely that it was stolen.
Every day I click on the magic “track it” button. It was transferred from the brown truck people to the USPS people. What could possibly go wrong?
I reset myself back into the days of yore when I wouldn’t be expecting it yet to keep any annoyance to a minimum. I don’t need it so all is good.
I’m keeping an eye out for a big dinosaur laden down with packages. If you see him in your neighborhood send him my way.
Author’s note: Lands End did not pay me anything to mention them in a good way but I am always open to free gifts! (Hopefully not by dinosaur)