As I dug deeply into my canvas bag of mail today, I drew out a stiff little envelope, probably a Christmas card, addressed very clearly to a scientist here, with a very clear return address on the back in Edinburgh, Scotland. Slightly less clear, with the touch of rotational blur that marks a hurried, human stamping, was the legend in bright blue, delicate capitals: MISSENT TO MALAYSIA.
I was struck at once. This eggshell envelope, the ridges of its subtle stripes teetering on the ridges of my fingerprints, had been to Malaysia. Not only had it somehow, incredibly, been sent to Malaysia in error, but Malaysia has a stamp for this occurrence, and Malaysia wants you to know why your letter has taken so long in coming - or to envy, perhaps, the jetsetting lifestyle of this holiday greeting. It was in good shape, the stiff little card - nary a water spot, tear, or dog’s ear. All it bore to attest to its adventure was that smug little inscription—“MISSENT TO MALAYSIA”. I smiled, and carried it to its final destination.
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I forgot to say
I forgot to add that I wondered fleetingly whether the letter had in fact been missent to malaysia, or whether somewhere along the line it passed through the hands of a particularly impish Royal Post worker with an interesting stamp, intent on bringing that chuckle and wonder into someone’s day.