Sunday Trading Hours

Dear England,


Let's be honest.  I've never liked you that much.  In fact, when I learned we had to live here rather than America, because of stupid immigration laws and such, I cried for about 3 days straight.  After that I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and I resigned myself to the fact that I could make the most of it.  Until I got here last July.  I walked in the front door of Nick's home in London and burst into tears all over again.  In fairness, England, that was his fault since he promised it would be freshly decorated and lets just say well... it was not.


Over the course of this year however, I think that we have for the most part made our peace with each other.  I no longer use the word "hate" when referring to this country, but you and I both know that I "prefer" America.  Sometimes I feel like we're colleagues that have to work together, so we're sucking it up and putting on a polite front, even though we both know that this relationship will never amount to a hardcore love affair or a forever friendship.


England, getting to this point in our relationship, it took a lot of work for me, you know?  But now I tolerate you, in fact I would go so far as to say that occasionally I even find you charming.  The views around here are pretty gorgeous if I'm going to be honest.


However, you went and effed it up yesterday.  Seriously, while I had great plans to schedule the most perfectly productive morning around a bus schedule that only runs ONCE an hour, YOUR stupid rules went and screwed up my meticulously planned morning.  My game plan was to catch the bus at 8:45, drop off our drycleaning, go to the DIY store, take a yoga class, and head home to spend the rest of the day working on our house.  Of course, I somehow manage to just barely miss the bus, making chasing it with my arms flailing like an asshole to catch it at the next stop seem feasible, but the bus driver failed to stop at the next stop and I was left in it's dust cursing public transportation.


Luckily, some woman named Janet took pity on my foolish looking self and offered me a ride to Morrisons, the grocery store where we get our dry cleaning done.  That was nice, and let me tell you England, you almost redeemed yourself there.  But When I got to Morrisons at around 9 am, I went inside, and tried to drop off my dry cleaning.  However, apparently, because it was Sunday, that means there are Sunday trading hours.  Meaning even though the store is OPEN at NINE, and there are PEOPLE working in the store, but you can't actually buy anything until TEN.  All you can do is BROWSE.  What the hell kind of sense does that make?  My plans were totally screwed up then and I just about threw a BF in the middle of the supermarket. Yes a Bitch Fit.


And you know what England, despite all the progress we have made together, this really made me want to punch you in your pasty, crooked toothed smiling face - if only you had a face, I think thats what it would look like.  Just one face to represent this wacky, backwards, wannabe version of the US.  Seriously, Sunday trading hours from 10-4?! Biggest crock of shit ever.


I'm going to try to pretend this didn't happen so we can get on with being amicable.


Sincerely,
Kelly Leigh