It began with the choosing of the gifts. I chose this lovely flamingo windsock, which I stole from an 8th grade dance back in 1997. At the time, my reasoning went something like this: No one will ever use this again. It is funny. Someday, I may find a use for this. Little did I know that 8 years later I would be mailing it to my little furry friend. I chose this gift because the flamingo has a hoo-haa at least as large as Monkey's, and like him, has overcome great odds to live life to the fullest.
The best part of getting this package was the mailman asking me if I was Spinning Girl. I've come to think of this as my name, so I said, Yes I am! to him, to the sky, to the mountaintops, to all the land! (Cue violins. Cue Barbra. Papa, can you hear me?)
Here is the package, all ready for the mailman! Now I settled down to wait for my package to arrive. I could hardly wait! I filled my days with barnyard sounds and photos of my workspace. I had a vivid fantasy about a blogger and a big black truck. I made a pot of pumpkin soup. I dumped half a pot of pumpkin soup down the toilet. And finally, one day, this package arrived!!!
Inside, I found this lovely picture of Monkey at his first day of preschool, followed by a handwritten note!:
I love him! He is so cuddly and I can just tell that he is craving love, a special kind of love that only a Spinning Girl can give. I will take him and hold him and love him and kiss him and squeeze him and pet him with my thumb as I walk along.
[EDIT: I have just been informed of some gastronintestinal issues. Well, not so much informed of, as exposed to. Jebus, Mary, and Sweet Papa Joseph! Upon further research I see that not only was Monkey aware of such troubles, but intentionally sent them to me because I alone have the compassion to love despite such flaws. I am not one to discard people based on one or too room-clearing flaws. All must flock to me. All gas-bloated, flatulent, odoriferous masses must flock unto me. I will love you anyway.]