Happy Pills

I saw them and immediately picked them up. Perhaps you remember them too. You know the Dad's Oatmeal cookies that come wrapped up two at a time in clear plastic. The really crunchy dry cookies that break in half with a snap, that crunch in your mouch with satisfying resistance, that taste like childhood - those.

I picked up a package immediately. Joe loves these cookies. So do I. But we don't have cookies around the house with me being diabetic and all. I know, I know, one cookie every now and then is fine but PLEASE, if I could actually eat only one cookie every now and then I wouldn't be diabetic now would I! Anyways, I saw the wee package and bought it.

It sat at my desk and made eyes at me all day. But I left it there. It was a little gift for Joe and I intended on giving it to him when he arrived to pick me up from work. We are nearing our anniversary and I've been thinking about something nice to do for Joe, something to let him know how I feel ... I've not thought of the perfect thing yet but there are still a few days.

Joe arrived and I noticed him notice the little package on my desk, his eyes kept tracking back to the lovely duo and I paid him no heed. Just before leaving I picked them up and said, 'I got these for you.'

Man, you should have seen the joy on his face. He stuffed them in his pocket and said gleefully that he'd eat them in the car on the way home. I swear he bounced out of the office. All at the price of 50 cents and he was happy.

I've resolved to stop thinking that I've got to always come up with the grand plan, the big thing and the absolute right wrapping paper. That I had to wait until the perfect moment, the right time ... No, instead, I'm going to concentrate on doing a bunch of little things whenever they occur to me. Because it's always the right time.

For cookies.

The ones that taste of thoughtfulness.