I’m sick. Not in a monumental way, but in a way that reminds me of being in 5th grade. It started with a bunch of sneezing a couple of nights ago, and let me tell you, I have an obnoxiously loud sneeze, so this was fun for everyone. I thought, Allergies. No big deal. Then it became a head cold. And then, today, my right ear started to hurt. Pound is actually a better word. Pound and stab. And shriek.
I wasn’t that kid who had 27 sets of tubes surgically installed into her ears, but I did have a number of serious ear infections, one of which resulted in a favorite parental yarn about how I once had to be held down by every adult in the examining room in order to have my ear examined. I guess you could say these were bad ear infections. I don’t really remember the pain so much as the dread – of the doctor, of the nighttime when I couldn’t sleep because of the pain. But I was lucky. The ear infections disappeared sometime with the passing of elementary school. That is, until today.
Today, when the ear began to scream, I knew I had to go to the doctor immediately. Here is where it is EXTREMELY lucky to be at my parents’ house. Somehow, Daddy convinced his marvelous doctor to fit me in, and I know she was glad she did because she nearly fell backward over the guest chair after peering into my ear with her little black scope. Oh my GOODNESS. Those were her exact words. Alright then.
So here I am, settled into a corner of the couch with antibiotics, steroids (THAT’S how incredible my ear infection is … Doc called in the big guns), cough drops, lotion tissues, hot tea and … this huge box of cookies.
They made quite a journey, these cookies. It started in Florida, being a gift from the fabulously kind people at the Kissimmee Convention and Visitors Bureau. See? Didn’t I tell you they were fantastic? But even better, these are the cookies that could. The cookies that insisted on showing up today when I needed a lovely surprise.
The postal worker hobbled up the steps and rang the doorbell. When I opened the door, she held out a moderately crushed US Postal Service box.
This is a little dirty, she says. We got run off the road earlier.
Oh my GOD. Are you alright?
Oh sure. It wasn’t me. It was the guy who had the box earlier.
Now I’m very confused, but I’m so sick and cloudy that I can’t figure out how to respond.
Just don’t put it down on any furniture until you wipe it off.
She walks away.
Uh … okay. Thank you … My voice is a disgusting garble.
She waves backwards, over her head. You’re welcome!
I wasn’t taking cold medicine when this happened, in case that’s what you’re thinking.
The cookies, from the aforementioned Breck’s Gourmet Cookies, are only a bit crumbly and still scrumptious in every way. Even without the assisting sense of smell, these cookies are fantastic. They made the perfect accompaniment to the 14 pills I had to take, and, really, isn’t that what cookies are all about? They’re my special little spoonful of sugar.
So, thanks, Kissimmee. What a nice surprise.