Gift

"Oh hey, can you stop by the post office and pick up that package for me?" he says as I'm running out the door. "Fine," I sigh, grabbing the USPS slip and ducking out, only an hour to run my errands during our kid's nap and not a moment to lose. I relish these outings and normally I'd try to stretch it out but today it's all business: bank, hardware store, TJ Maxx to return a sweater. Now add the Post Office. Great. "It's from my Dad, should be a big box," he says. Even better.  

I arrive to the post office and no surprise, a long line. What is a surprise is that when I hand over the slip the man doesn't go into the back room but instead reaches behind him into a small closet, and pulls out an envelope. A tiny one.

"Merry Christmas!"

The certified piece of mail has only two pieces of information on it, but it's all I need. 1) It's addressed to my husband. 2) The return address is from a popular tasting room we've been wanting to try. (Side note: guess where ladies? C'est Cheese!) Merry Christmas indeed!

When I get home, I casually drop the piece of mail in front of him, and try not to smirk. The look on his face, surprised and busted, is a little gift all it's own.