The Christmas Card

I have a dear friend named Laurie. Actually, I have more than one dear friend named Laurie, so, for this post, let's call her Laurie G. I love Laurie G. and everything about Laurie G. Laurie G. is pee-your-pants-funny, and not enough can be made of someone that makes you pee your pants laughing. Laurie G. is a homemaker to the nth degree, she puts me to shame in all regards.

She, however, does not, and never has, sent out Christmas cards.

I know this about her, and in fact, admire it. I recently dreamed that she had me over to her home, and she pulled me into the hall to show me 135 beautifully "wrapped" Christmas cards. Each and every card was inserted into one of those drawstring fabric bag thingies like this:

Though she never said it, I knew that not one of the 135 beautifully bagged cards, was for me. I wasn't asking to be named in her will, but out of 135 people, I didn't make the list? I was hurt. I was crushed, actually.

I woke up the next morning and e-mailed Laurie G., told her about the dream, and that I couldn't stop being pissed and hurt by her slight. She laughed (of course) and wanted me to probe deeper into the dream. Of course, the dream has nothing to do with Laurie G., but parts of myself that I slight, that I do not "gift."

I've let her know in the weeks following the dream, that I'm still a little pissed. Really, 135 people and I'm not ONE?

Last night I saw Laurie G. and she handed me this:

I about peed my pants, and then I opened it and found this:

(It says: Every day is Christmas when I'm with you!

All love,

Laurie)

I'm feeling much better.