I knew today was going to be awesome when I reached into the mismatched silverware drawer this morning and pulled out my favorite coffee spoon.
I have faith in this coffee spoon. Back in November it usually heralded a call from Tim (hm, have I seen that spoon in two months?) or news about a managing position at Ann Taylor (nope, didn't get that job either). At the very least, it usually signaled a pleasant or exciting day.
Half the fun, of course, is predicting what is going to happen and then being completely wrong. And then there's the speculation that it's probably a good day because I'm looking for it to be.
Anyway, I pulled out my favorite coffee spoon. So little fun things happened...I broke a fixture at Ann Taylor but Lisa wasn't mad (she was impressed though; that fixture is supposed to be indestructible), Gloria Jean's brewed my favorite coffee on their three-week-ish rotation (oh yeah, Black Gold, baby), and even though I had a terrible selling day, I left in a good mood.
The best part was coming home and finding, not a letter from Notre Dame regarding my application to the graduate school (there was the wrong prediction), but a letter from my good friend since the summer of my fifteenth year. I thumped down the stairs to the mailbox bracing four pounds of butter, a purse, a tote, and two bags of Tostitos against various bony points of my anatomy, managed to work my key into the box, opened it, and started tipping the mail out between the boxes of butter and my bosom. And saw a flash of that familiar handwriting.
I had forgotten the thrill of seeing one of his letters in my mailbox. It's been almost two years since the last one, and this one arrived just after Valentine's Day, a three-page letter and a card. From my friend, well-known and trusted.
Aww, warm fuzzies.
Time to get a drink.
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