Once upon a time something tragic happened. Here is the tale...
We walked out the back door. We all got into the van, Dad, Mom, Melissa, Emma, William and myself. We drove down the gravel road waving farewell to those left behind. We went down our hill and into the little town where our post office is. We walked in to the building where the booths were, rambling off our names, one by one. They passed out white sheets of paper, one by one to each member of my family (minus William and Emma, of course) but they seemed to have forgotten mine.
We asked them if they had a slip for me, and the kind lady looked again, but came up with nothing. She then proceeded to look in the big black book, but my name was not listed. We called the courthouse, and I talked with another kind lady there, hoping she had my name somewhere. She put me on hold (could this be a good thing, I wondered) and then came back on the line to say, "I'm sorry, it doesn't look like we got your registration information from the DPS, (or was it the DMV or DLP...I've only been able to remember the name of the place in Houston...oh, back to my story). You won't be able to vote today." After that, the conversation was rather short as there was nothing more to say. Handing the bright red phone back to the first kind lady, she told me that I wasn't this first person this had happened to today. Everybody had a cute sticker that says, "I voted!" and I didn't get one...even William and Emma got one.
We loaded back into the van, went back up the hill and drove back down the gravel road, waving hello to those raking in the yard. We all walked into the house from the back door and the day moved on.
Thus ends a much abbreviated story...I hope you didn't shed too many tears whilst reading it.