Many years ago, my mom was in church when the entire, sizable, congregation had to evacuate due to widespread coughing and mucosal irritation. Security mobilized and the air system was examined, to no avail. Turns out, it was the accidental discharge of pepper spray in mom’s purse.
My story is not nearly as exciting, but I’m definitely related.
Last night, after leaving a thought-provoking bible study group, I was racing (at the speed limit, plus 4) somewhere to mainline some caffeine into my painfully erupting brain. I was considering all the friends who had missed the study due to illness, travel, work or other personal matters. I shot out a text update to my friend/work-out partner/child-stitcher (yeah, let’s call her “Stitch”) who was approaching the end of her shift. She replied with a cupcake craving.
The impish “snack region” of my brain momentarily interrupted the cerebral volcanic broadcast station to make a cookie suggestion. Come now, right brain. We did not make all this progress by munching cookies together. Aw, left brain, she’s had a long busy day…you have calories to spare…and you know the cookies are magically delicious here. She’ll love it! Darn your creative thinking, right brain! I have to give left brain some slack – it was busy texting “Stitch” about the cookie suggestion, the time, and the moment-of-weakness cookie purchase.
I left with my caffeine, two warm gooey cookies, and a very drooly mouth. Swinging by her workplace, I contemplated popping in to drop off the cookie. I tried to get a peek at the crowd. It looked busy. She wasn’t replying to texts, so she must be busy. Oh well, she is off soon. I”ll just leave it on her car. So, with my oozing, sweet, chocolaty cookie dancing in my mouth, I set the bag on her car, sad that she would miss the melty part of the experience, but satisfied it would still be a tasty treat.
To my horrmusement (that would be horror + amusement), I later received the text, “You cannot believe what your cookie started. Imagine someone not getting these texts before she walks out to her car in the dark of night.” Hot smoke. It had not even occurred to me that she wouldn’t have seen the messages. Add to that a recent personal safety discussion. And our bomb-threat-saturated news culture. And the assortment of personalities one can only imagine she interacts with. Oh yeah, and the completely different context for the “cute” message of playful ribbing I’d written on the bag: “I blame you.” Yeah…there was security involvement. Husband involvement. Bag dumping. Looking for the footage. Clever, Ames. Real stinkin’ clever. Fortunately, she eventually saw the messages, called off security, and has charged me with buying the next round of coffee and cookies to laugh it off. Thank God for gracious friends.