I'm drunk on power and melon juice.

Really more on melon juice than on power, but what can I say, it sounded good. Didn't it? Didn't it?
The power trip, if you really must know, came from my monthly walk to the post-office. August being what it is, it was almost empty: there was one person ahead of me in the queue. Now, that's really unheard of. Typically of course, there were more people manning the counters than at peak hours during the proper working months, when the lines are two or three folds deep, but who would I be to complain? Yeah, don't answer that.
So there I was, not believing my luck that this was really going to be that quick and painless.
Well it wasn't.
Two guys turned up behind me, waving frantically at the woman I was just. about. to go up to, going "you just phoned me?" in stereo, and advanced triumphantly to the spot that was rightfully mine, after a token 'sorry'. The woman at the counter apologized, saying something about parcels, bla bla bla, but they were kinda cute, and I was in a good mood. I smiled it off.
That unsettled her deeply, I could tell.
When it was finally my turn, she apologized again. Gave me my stamps, took my letters, apologized again, offered pre-stamped envelopes, which I turned down, apologized again, thanked me for my change, apologized again, and wished me a good day.
Those four-inch high shoes are working like I would never have believed.
Now, the melon. Well, it was very ripe. I suspect I'm on a sugar high. Thank god I've kicked off my shoes, or I'd be hitting the ceiling right now.