Apparently you can no longer have the New York Times Sunday Edition delivered to your door anymore if you live in central Kentucky. The Boyfriend signed up and paid for it several weeks ago. Every Sunday morning he calls and tells them no paper was delivered, and every Sunday morning they apologize profusely and swear it will be delivered tomorrow or next week and appropriate credits will be made blah blah blah, but to date, no Sunday New York Times has been delivered to our door. Because apparently the newspaper distribution centers in central Kentucky can handle delivering a crate load of unrequested and unwanted junk mail called “Sunday Shopper” and “Wednesday Bargains” but we can’t get someone to put a real newspaper with real news into our mailbox, thrown down at the end of our driveway, and certainly not placed lovingly at our door so that my damn Boyfriend can do the Sunday crossword puzzle in ink which is the only reason he buys it in the first place.
Whereas in New York City you just walk out your door and there is a paper box or a news vendor stand and you fork over your money and then walk back upstairs and go back to bed to do the crossword all morning. With coffee and breakfast in bed. Which he cooks, so I miss having his damn paper delivered on Sundays, too.