In Which the USPS Cracks Me Up

We are thiiiiiiiis close to being ready to send out the invitations.  We devoted most of yesterday morning to printing and trimming and we assembled one complete invitation and headed on down to the post office to have it weighed.  This turned out to be a good move.

First, we assembled the postage we already have.  Fun fact about Wes . . . he has some kind of freaky sixth sense when it comes to finding spare change and yes, stamps, on the ground.  He's like some kind of weirdo things-with-monetary-value detector.

Personal Photo

We have some celebration stamps, some Liberty Bell stamps, a little American flag action, and assorted fruits and vegetables.  lI should probably mention here that I am not in any way invested in special wedding postage.  This might be because I have a somewhat adversarial relationship with the postal service and well . . . I like to pick my battles and postage ain't the field I'm willing to die on.

It's good that I feel that way because the postal service served us up this action.

Personal photo

That's right.  A little Washington, some Purple Hearts and a random assortment of flowering herbs.   Patriotic pastoral.

I find this combination strangely hilarious.  Partly because I did not immediately recognize the dude in the wig with all the blush and also because my failure to do so reminded me of something funny from my high school days. 

My friends and I were hanging out at my friend Eric's house one day.  His mother had a painting of Jesus hanging over the piano--as one generally does in that part of the south.  This Jesus was the long-haired, blonde, blue-eyed, dirty hippie version.  My mother's version, which happened to be similar to my other friend's mothers' versions, was the Morris Chestnut-y, dreadlocked, bare-chested, muscle-y variety.  Which is why LaConda looked at the painting and asked Eric, "Who is that white man?"

Eric looked--aghast.  "That's JESUS!"

Hilarious.