I didn't get my Boston Globe this morning. Again.
After several minutes of wandering around my yard in the rain in my slippers holding a raincoat over my head, I had to give in to the fact it wasn't there.
In the nearly 13 years I have lived in this house, the Union Leader has been on my back stoop or in the storm door every single day.
The Globe? Not so much. Last winter I had to dig around in the snow countless times before finding the soggy, barely readable pile of pulp. Many days, I have to look through the bushes or out at the front of the house (where I rarely go) before finding it. Sometimes, I secretly suspect it's been delivered to a neighbor instead. I've actually looked around their porches while walking the dogs.
Unfortunately, my favorite part of the day is the hour or so I spend drinking coffee and reading my papers in the kitchen, with New England Cable News on the TV, before getting going on whatever I have to do.
No big revelations here, no big philisophical point or anything.
Just, damn it, as long as newspapers are still being printed, I WANT MINE. Is that too much to ask?
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