I get a text from a friend.
Hey, you get a package? I sent you one. They said it was delivered but not delivered.
I go to the porch. Find damaged goods. Snap a picture and text it back. Should I open it?
Silence, then the phone vibrates:
OH, GOD. NO.
This isn't a slight against the USPS, bless their hearts. We use them for our shipping and they do a good job about 99% of the time. This, however, was a very unfortunate 1%. Well, it could've been worse...
Tossing caution to the wind, I rip open the box (which is a bit dramatic - it was pretty much open already). I lift the flaps. Trying to look past the 6 surfaces that read GLASS FRAGILE into a box that was treated as if it said BALL, TO KICK.
Inside was a bottle George T. Stagg, 2011. A bottle just as hard to find as Pappy Van Winkle. A bottle that was just named spirit of the world. A bottle that is worthy of sitting in the back of my cabinet to be shared when we have a child, when they get to college, when we celebrate our 20th year of marriage, our 65th.
Sent from a very fine North Carolinian who now resides in Seattle. Who was thanking us for hosting him last week.
What a gift. What a friend. What a relief it didn't break.