Gift-giving occasions give me the hives. There, I’ve said it. If I could give the gift of sarcasm, I’d be set for life. Alas, not too many folks have a hankering for what I’ve got to offer.
Same goes for someone asking me what I want. Let’s be honest: I’m a woman with an addiction to books and a credit card. There’s nothing else I need. Well, I need clean underwear. You know, in case I’m in an accident. See, Mom, I listened!!
But when a quilting kindred spirit and blogging buddy says, “Hey, I need your address“, these things you do not question. The last time Julianne of Quilting with Calicos fame did this, I scored some truly awesome toffee. This is a woman with whom I will not argue.
Is it shallow and avaricious that my first thought was, “Please, God, let her send toffee”?
I have been impatiently waiting. Nine times out of ten, if there’s a package in the mailbox, it’s for Himself. I hate you, eBay!
Standing by the box at the roadside, I squealed. I skipped. And much to the dismay of passing motorists, I shimmied. All I needed were some pasties and a feather boa and it would’ve been redneck burlesque. His Awesomeness bailed out of the car and hustled inside. The Diva sat in the front seat, mouth agape, as she took in the show.
I told myself I’d wait. Patience, grasshopper. Plus, I didn’t want the varmints I call my children to see the goods. If it was what I thought it might be, it’d be gone quicker than you could say Jack Sprat.
I lasted an hour and a half. In my universe, this is progress.
But first, I felt that USPS package up like a suburban housewife copping a feel of a Chippendale dancer’s tush. Is that a box I feel? It’s kinda squishy, but the bottom feels like it’s got a shape. What the what?
I tried to channel my Dad’s mother and pick the tape off slowly and savor the moment, but Julianne is obviously related to Himself, who can make opening any package a form of torture. Forget water boarding. Tape is where it’s at.
Confession time: At this point I made a small slit in the corner, lifted the package to my nose and inhaled deeply. Yes, I sniffed it. Go ahead, I’ll wait while you finish snickering over me confessing to sniffing it like a drug dog.
Are ya done?
Little brown bits came tumbling out. She’d either mailed me rodents and they couldn’t hold it the whole trip or…”Is that chocolate I smell? Is it, could it be…?” And, like that, I knew what I’d be getting for Christmas.
A bigger butt…and possibly diabetes.
The Diva watched me ooh and ahh and repeat the whole squeal and shimmy routine over the bounty…and reached for the toffee. In the words of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman: ‘Big mistake. Huge’.
The surgeon assures us that her reattached arm will be good as new in about six weeks and after extensive physical therapy.
And check out these handmade hot pads! I love bagels!!