A Comedy of Errors

After a week of quarantine, I couldn't take it any longer. We went out today and ran errands.

One of which was to deliver this odd package to Mrs. Smith, who will in turn deliver it to its intended recipient. I won't mention any names since doing so would incriminate me.

Let me explain.

Well, first, let me explain where the idea originated.

Note: I love to tell stories in a round-about fashion so as to keep people on the edge of their seats, waiting (with bated breath, of course) to see how all the details tie together in the climactic finale. You love that too, right? :)

So our story starts out on an evening not unlike this one, in the depths of a frigid Missouri winter, where a handsome man, his sweet wife and his above-average baby are en route to his superior's home in one of the loveliest sections of their fair city for a little Midwestern potluck. The wife, being a new mother, is excited and a little flustered over the rare opportunity for an evening of stimulating adult conversation and gratifying baby adoration.

When the little family arrives at their destination, the handsome man takes charge of the baby and leaves his sweet wife to struggle under the load of diaper bags and potluck contributions. As this is his wont to do while out in public, the wife struggles under an even heavier load of resentment, watching the husband soak up all the initial baby-centric attention while the wife brings up the rear like a pack mule. But that is another story. And, as has already been mentioned, she is a sweet wife and does not hold a grudge. :)

Unfortunately for the handsome man, though, this is one evening when he would have been wise to let his wife enjoy the accolades of infant perfection, as her struggle proves to be her downfall. Downfall, as in all the things loaded in her arms, including the food which she had so lovingly prepared, teeter for one eternal moment before they fall down to the ground. The particular ground on which she is standing happens to be covered with an exquisite oriental rug. And the particular foodstuff at the tippy-top of the teetering stack happens to be chili. Enough to feed a large Midwestern crowd.

It is a sad state of affairs, to say the least.

As much as I love details, I cannot bear to dredge up the peculiar mortifications of this poor wife in this moment, so let us instead cast our glance upon the host and hostess of the gala event, who naturally have an interest in the recent goings-on in their foyer. A particularly striking couple, their outward charm is exceeded by a graciousness that defies explanation, and somehow they manage to convince the wife to stay for the evening's festivities. Their kindness truly is the only thing keeping her from jumping off the nearest overpass.

In the days that follow this crisis, the sweet wife racks her brain for an appropriate token of contrition that will recompense their gracious hosts adequately for the emotional suffering endured on the evening in question, all offers of recompense for collateral damage having been refused. In a rare moment of brilliance, the sweet wife opts for self-deprecating humor, and she sets about procuring and assembling a cornucopia of household cleaning products into a very cute metal wine bucket.

The coup de grace of this ensemble is the card made for the hosts. The wife remembers seeing miniature cleaning accouterments in her local craft store, and scores just what she's looking for. She then pulls up pictures of her wedding shower, which her gracious hosts also hosted in their lovely home previously for her and the handsome man, and she is delighted to find one that captures her hosts gazing towards the very epicenter of the chili disaster. And even more thrillingly, her host's hand is situated perfectly to hold the miniature mop that will hopefully bring some comic relief to an otherwise overwhelmingly unpleasant memory.

As pleased as the wife is with the execution of this cute and clever idea, she is still too mortified to face her hosts, and thus leaves the gift on their doorstep. When she arrives home, she notices the blinking light on the answering machine and plays a message recorded by her hostess, in which said hostess literally squeals with delight over the clever idea.

At which the sweet wife thinks to herself, "Perhaps spilling chili all over their rug and floor and walls was actually a good thing?" Probably not, but her humiliation is somewhat assuaged at least, and she learns that self-deprecating humor is a good thing.

Which brings us back to our odd package pictured above, yet another example of remunerative gift-giving. The crisis this time involves 2 vehicles and the unfortunate relocation of a side-view mirror. Instead of housecleaning helps, this lovely gift package is chock full of auto body repair products, including peel-and-stick imitation mirror glass, metal plasticizer, and, of course, the inimitable duct tape.

Godspeed to the lucky recipient! :D