Lest You Think We Are Normal

Photos by Michelle Syma, at a friend's 30th birthday party

And, to carry the point further, an irrelevant story: 

Remember my yard sale? 

At the sale, I met Katie in person for the first time. She had her four-year-old daughter with her. Daughter had kind of had it with doing errands with mom and waiting around while mom chatted with other moms. Then, Daughter spies, among my yard sale wares, a book I had come across in my decluttering process, dismissed as twaddle (yup, I'm judgmental), and tossed into the sale pile. 

It was called The Berenstain Bears' Christmas Tree. I don't think it was even written by the original Berenstains. 

So anyway. Daughter, in her heart of hearts, yearns for the book. Mother happily coughs up fifty cents, and Daughter is finally at peace. I feel good about that. 

Two weeks later, I get an email. 

From the public library. 

I have an overdue book. 

It's called The Berenstain Bears' Christmas Tree. 

I receive my certification as a Really Awesome Person. 

Actually, torn between humiliation and gratitude that the book was sold to a person I actually sort of knew, I write a cringing, sycophantic email to Katie. 

She very graciously returns the book, which must have been sneaked into my library pile. 

I send the Professor to the library with an explanation for why it no longer has its barcode stickers.

Daughter has possibly gotten over it by now, but maybe hates me forever. 

The End. 

P.S. You still have until 11:59 p.m. tonight to enter the necklace giveaway!