My Latest Misguided Attempt at Spreading Love

I spend a lot of time exclaiming, “People are so stupid!!! I don’t know how they manage to get home!!!” 

If you’ve spent any amount of time around me, or heck, reading my posts, you know this is true. I was provided a near-constant parade of examples in my years behind the counter at Co-op, but really it’s on permanent display wherever I roam. So I don’t go out much. I prefer my hermit lifestyle. 

This weekend found me making treats for Johnny’s guys and the crews at my work. I made an 8×13 of millionaire bars, two runs of peanut butter cookies (that yields about six cookie sheets worth, to give you an idea), and three batches of chocolate no bakes. I was at it all day yesterday, and went through 10 pounds of sugar, eight sticks of butter, a giant jar of peanut butter, and a dozen eggs. 


I wanted to send a big canister of cookies to my friend the retired air force colonel because he’s been having a rough go of it and peanut butter cookies are one of his very most favorite things in the whole world. I was up at five this morning finishing baking and got his all packaged up in about a quart size tin featuring pine cones. I took the little treat bags in a giant Cracker Barrel bag and got Johnny out the door with his tins. 

I distributed all the baggies with Christmas cards at work and waited to reap the compliments of my baking exertions. 

Looks like I’ll be waiting till tomorrow. 

But Johnny’s crew sent their most sincere appreciation and request for more. They’ll be getting sausage balls this week. My guys better shape up if they want some! 

Anyway, after work, after I made a twenty minute trip ten miles out of the way to a store that was closed for renovations, I texted my friend’s wife to let them know I was in route. I was running an hour earlier than previously planned, but I knew they were planning on being there so I figured it wouldn’t be any big deal. She didn’t answer me, but I didn’t think much about it. I get to their driveway and the gate is shut and padlocked, which I thought was a little weird, since they were expecting me. 

I checked my phone again for a reply text, and finding none, I called her. I felt fortunate to even have a signal in the holler. 

No answer. 

I left a message that I was at their gate, nd finding it locked I would leave the tin by the wheel on the gate. It would be pretty obvious, but you know, just to be sure.

I was a little worried that Kent had gotten terribly sick and had to be rushed to the hospital, because that’s the way my mind works, and really what else would explain the locked gate? 

It had been raining, and their place is kinda in the boondocks, so I hesitated leaving the tin on the ground. Too bad I didn’t have a grocery store bag to hang it off the post. Maybe the neighborhood mangy dogs (read: coyotes) and possums wouldn’t get to it before they got back home. 

I almost went in the ditch getting out of their driveway. Sheesh, tight fit between the columns…I was a little nervous backing out on their road in that curve. People fly through there. But all in a day’s work of a cookie delivering elf! 

I headed back the way I came. Next stop, Food City for wine and more sugar. ‘Tis the season. 

I was almost there when my phone rings. Cheryl. She sounds a little sheepish, which is unlike her. 

“Amy??? Uhhh…I don’t know how to say this…but we’re home…our gate is open…it’s always open…I’m not sure where you left the cookies…”

I thought she was joking. I thought Kent had put her up to it. When she didn’t crack up, I realized this is just another episode in my life. 

So here’s the thing: I didn’t actually know exactly where Kent & Cheryl live. Johnny’s been over there several times (without me) and of course Uncle Dale. We exchange Christmas cards every year but I didn’t bother checking the address in my book before venturing out because I thought I knew where I was going. I thought I’d seen him out tooling on his tractor a time or two when I’d gone by on my way home. I thought that was their house on the hill. 

I thought that was their creek and their garden and their flowers on the hillside and their steep gravel driveway. 

No. No, no, no. 

So I explained to Cheryl precisely where I left them and she explained to me exactly where I went wrong. I was helpfully giving her hints on locating the gigantic tin of cookies and how not to park in the driveway unless they had a death wish. She went to collect them as I went in to select my wine. I obviously should have bought more, because when I finally get home she sends me a text that the cookies had VANISHED!!! I guess the neighbor saw me and came down and collected them. I was devastated and also madder than dammit because who eats random cookies left by a strange person without a NOTE?!?! Johnny says I look like a nice lady. HA! I offered to call their neighbor and explain my mistake (you can’t have pride when you pull ridiculous stunts like me) but she’s never even met the man. To her credit, she said maybe he was having a terrible day and the mystery cookies improved his day. 

I’m all for making the neighbor another batch- special-like-Minnie’s-chocolate-pie style. But I’m not very nice. I’m just mad at myself, mainly.

Now, considering what you know of me: my proclivity of climbing into the wrong cars, leaving cookies at the wrong house, and all the other stupid things I do on a daily basis, I feel that it’s safe to say it’s a thousand wonders and an actual miracle I’m able to get home everyday. 

That will probably be the next installment, by the way. “The Day I Didn’t Get Home”

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