Sometimes I Embarrass Myself...

...But first an announcement. Ladies and gentlemen, it was a whopping sixty-five degrees in Seattle today. There was a time when sixty-five was an unheard of temperature, a myth told to scare a child of the south as she grew up never needing more than a light jacket. Then that child moved to the wonderful land of omg-what-do-you-mean-forty-is-warm, Seattle, Washington. Been living it up in the Emerald City for over three years now (the longest I've ever lived in one place) and I think I've finally acclimated to this godforsaken weather because when I saw sun today I busted out the shorts. It was wonderful. My obscenely pale legs might have startled the swarms of tourists making their way into the city as that time of year approaches again, but that's okay because I wore my YOLO shirt. Speaking of YOLO, have you heard this yet???

And now for my embarrassing story of the day...or I guess of my month since it's been an ongoing fiasco. A month ago today I accepted Kimberley Cameron's offer of representation. About a week or so later I received the paperwork. I read through it, grabbed an envelope and sent it back the next day. Another week passed and I get the same envelope in my mailbox with a stamp reading: invalid address. I checked the address on the top of the contract. It matched the one on the envelope exactly.

Thinking it was just a mistake by the post office I tried again. Another week. Another returned contract. Unfortunately finals week was in full swing and I was in no mood to march to the post office to sort the matter out (plus who has time to dismember a post-man during finals week?) so I set it aside to deal with when I wasn't insanely busy. After all, Kimberley was already my agent through a verbal contract and she's been busy ever since trying to sell my book.

Finally I sat down yesterday and studied the address on the contract. I was zero-two in the war with the USPS. I could not suffer a third loss. There was nothing different between my address on the envelopes and the one on the contract though! My boyfriend leans over to see what I'm doing then swivels his chair back toward his computer.

"You know that's a T, right?"

Face. Desk. Repeat.

I write in cursive. I have always written in cursive. Up until yesterday I thought I could read cursive too. Apparently not. I Googled the agency and saw that I was in fact misreading their very VERY cursive letterhead. I must be broken or something because I still see an L instead of a T.