I wake each morning, open the front door, and collect the milk and newspaper. With coffee on the side, I crackle open the newspaper and spread it wide on the table. Then I scan it page by page. If I am ever late for work and eat breakfast at the canteen, I carry the newspaper with me. Yes, I am old or at least, have a habit mostly associated with the older generation.
So, imagine my shock, when I don't get the newspaper. On Day 1, I assumed the chap was on holiday. On Day 2, I get the TOI, which is only fit in my opinion, to line my kitchen shelves. I didn't even open the rag. On Day 3, no newspaper. I call the agent.
"What flat number?"
"I thought you had moved out."
"Huh? Who told you that? Did you not see a milk packet out each day, then, how did you assume I moved out?"
"Ah, what flat number madam?"
"Oh, you have a different subscription for The Hindu, for which we haven't been getting the copies."
"Umm.. so why can't you just deliver a copy from your usual supply? I'll pay extra."
Day 4. No newspaper.
"Hello, no newspaper today."
"I told the boy Madam. I'll send it in two minutes. No, wait, in five minutes"
I stood on the balcony, scanning the entrance of the apartment. Nothing happened for ten minutes. I went in to shower.
Dammit, TOI again!
Long tirade to N follows. Some loony came to our door when I was traveling out of town. This loony convinced N to take a subscription to the newspaper, for which we already had a subscription (!!!), only at a cheaper rate. N, applying his massive intellect, decided to take him up on it. This is what happens when a spouse takes a decision on your behalf. N doesn't need or read the newspaper to the same extent as me, so why did he even bother? Probably thought he was saving us a lot of dough. But at what cost to my peace of mind? Hrrumph. Sore Topic.
Phone call to Newspaper man, and assurances follow.
Day 5. The Hindu delivered. Shanti is restored to marital relations. Mornings are now, once again, hostage to routine.