When the MSG invited me to dinner tonight, I didn’t think much of it. We haven’t been going out to dinner lately, so his announcement that we should seemed to make sense, despite just having spent a long weekend together, filled with plenty of good food.
Just after 21:00, he texts me with his location: at the corner down the street from my flat. I think that is slightly odd, since he usually meets me at my front door, but maybe he wants to go to the restaurant on that corner, so no biggie.
O, he’s in my car, I think as I reach the corner. Since his car has all but given up the ghost, he’s taken to driving mine when he needs to run errands. It works out for me, too, since then I don’t have to move it to avoid street cleaning tickets.
I see him unlock the passenger-side door, so I get into the car. “I think you left something at my place this morning,” he says. “It’s in the backseat.”
Weird. I don’t usually do that. But I was groggy and it’s possible. I reach back and there is a small plastic-wrapped package, addressed to me, at the MSG‘s address. I look at the sender’s address. “Ah, this is the case I got you for your new iPod.”
He nods. “Ah, okay. But I think you left something else.”
I glance back. How did I miss that much bigger cardboard box on the seat? “I didn’t bring a box to your house …” I begin, and then catch the look on the MSG‘s face. Twisting backwards, I grapple with the big box and pull it into my lap. I look at the sender’s address. It has “Camera” in the name.
“What did you do?” I wail quietly. “Whaaaat did you dooooooo?” Rip goes the tape across the seams of the box.
He starts to laugh as I thrust my hands into the styrofoam-peanut-filled box and extract my very own Canon EOS Digital Rebel XTi.
I lost the ability to speak coherently at that point. Hours later, I am still floored. And I don’t feel like typing much longer …