Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

My Honey and I have been in a battle of wills with the publishers of the Picayune. We didn’t pay the last subscription renewal because we were waiting for them to call up and offer a cheaper rate. According to My Honey that’s what he usually does. Like playing poker with the billing department, he just waits – they’ll come up with a better offer. He assured me it goes like this.

The first letter comes: Dear Sir. We see that you haven’t renewed. Please send in your $36.00.

Next comes: Dear Sir, We see that you haven’t renewed. We miss you. Please send in $24.00.

Followed by: Dear Sir. Our lives are meaningless without you. Please send in $12.00.

So we waited. Nothing happened. The first round of play never occurred. I was certain we’d lost. I figured the Picayune didn’t need us anymore. I was forced to go to the local convenience store on Sundays with the rest of the rabble to buy my copy of the Sunday paper. It was so inconvenient to have to get dressed and everything. Besides, I’m certain my neighbors missed the sight of me in my jammies on Sunday morning, tromping out into the yard with my bare feet, hissing at the sun like a vampire.

I suggested we contact the paper and cave in. Pay them whatever they want, I begged. I really missed the comics. Besides, I so enjoyed reading the paper at work with the rest of the girls. I would regale them with Dear Abby in different voices. My Honey wouldn’t let me contact the paper. Wait, he intoned. Be patient, he said while my fingers hesitated over the send button on my phone.

I fidgeted. I squirmed. I gnashed my teeth with anxiety.

Then I collected the mail on Saturday and I danced a jig at the mailbox. The newspaper publisher offered me their metaphorical throat, jugular exposed, and I went in for the kill.

$2.24 a week GUARANTEED until 2017.

I paid for six months in advance. If the Picayune goes out of business the guilt can be placed at my feet. I will accept blame.

Wall Street Journal – are you paying attention?