One of my favorite gifts ever received was a box of Kleenex.
It was winter and I had a cold, in college and broke, and while the dorm bathroom toilet paper might have been two-ply, to my red and raw nose it more closely resembled sandpaper than pillowy softness. But it was free and endless, and being a beggar I was no chooser, so I did the best with what I had.
One afternoon in the midst of my sniffling and sneezing misery, I walked into our room to find a new, unopened box of tissue perched atop my laminated dresser. Cradled in the comfort of student uniform–sweats!–Cassie looked up from her I'm-sure-compelling textbook and smiled.
"I got you a surcie," her voice and eyes twinkled.
I looked at the cube and it clearly said "Kleenex" and in my mind I attempted to re-hear what she had just said, trying to figure out how "tissue" or "Kleenex" could sound like a completely different word. All I could muster was, "What did you just call it?"
Juggling knives & very.mean.cats at work AND hosting our second party for the second Friday in a row (yes, I'm posting THIS in the midst of a cleaning and cooking frenzy–can I get a witness from anyone who knows me in real life???), I a l m o s t forgot this post published just after midnight at (in)courage. Nothing would make me smile bigger if you continue reading over there :)! While you're there, stay a while…you'll leave feeling greatly encouraged!