Patience is a virtue. According to most, anyway.

After our night of horror sleeping 30 feet away from the grunting Larry atop a cold mountain, we treated ourselves to coffee and a giant blueberry muffin at a cozy place called Stage Door (that apparently also does cabaret on the weekends). It was warm and friendly and a little quirky (as most of Mount Shasta City is), and the muffin was fluffy as a cotton ball.

The events of that morning wouldn't really be worth sharing with you if it weren't for a particularly strange message I found in the bathroom. Now, it wasn't the kind of bathroom in which one would normally find scribbling on the walls. It was nice, clean, suitable for an old lady. It even smelled delicious. But there, squeezed in rounded letters onto the carved wood toilet paper holder, were the words,

"Patience gave me genital herpes."

What is this? A cry for help, a protest, a warning?

And, my poor, sweet angsty one, I can't help but wonder, what happens when you're in a hurry?