Cupboard Cooking, Part Two

So there I was on a sticky, hot July afternoon making pbj after pbj.  We were two weeks into our no spending, eating only what was already in the house experiment.  Checkered sat at the kitchen table checking his work email and not even pretending to listen as I told him every detail of my day.

When the doorbell rang, we quickly made fleeting eye contact and then resumed our intense concentration: he with his computer, I with my pbj's.  You see, prolonged eye contact would have necessitated acknowledging the ringing doorbell and that would have necessitated one of us moving to answer the door.   We're competitive in a passive-aggressive way.

But, no fear, we possess a 6 year old who was more than happy to emerge from the playroom and open the door.  Still, Checkered and I pretended deep concentration with tasks, but each of us was listening for the voice from the doorbell ringer.  Was it the kids from up the street?  Was it the street-wise child from a few houses down?  Was it an unannounced pastoral visit?  Was it a package delivery?

We heard nothing.  Nothing.  Yet we could tell from the street sounds pouring into the house that the door remained open.  Suddenly, Checkered and I began to move fluidly and with great beauty and agility toward the open door where our shy child stood hiding behind it and a complete stranger stood just beyond the threshold.

At this point you must pause to congratulate us on how smart we are about teaching our children to use the peep hole and to never open the door without our permission.  This example is rivaled only by the time my toddler daughter opened the door while I bathed.  I was in a bit of panic when I heard a man's voice calling from my living room, "Hello!!  Is your mommy or daddy here?"  Yes, that day I came flying down the stairs in a towel to find the mailman in my house.

Anyhow, back to the story.  Just outside the opened door stood a delivery person from Papa John's pizza.  She stood beaming while we told her she was at the wrong house.  She tried to talk, but we would have none of it. 

"We didn't order pizza.  You must be mistaken.  What is the address you're looking for?"

We finally finished our protestations while she patiently stood there holding two of the most fragrant pizzas.  It was our address on the pizzas.  The disturbingly patient adult delivery woman told us,

"A friend sent these to you.  They are paid for and there is no need to tip.  Enjoy your gift from someone who wishes to remain annonymous."

She drove away while we three stood there like idiots staring mutely at two pizza boxes.  Eventually we made our way into our kitchen where we continued to stand looking at the now-opened pizza boxes with their beautiful, beautiful pizzas. 

We began to laugh.  I began to think and think.  And then we ate all the pbs's and both pizzas - all in the same night.

There was only one person who knew my family was to be served pbs's that night, and that person is my sister, Red, who has never commented on this blog. What she did was clever, kind, and very fun.  We laughed and talked about her random act of kindness for days.  What a wonderful idea!  It's something we think we would like to do for someone else.

So all I'm saying, Red, is thank-you and I love you.  And you never know when some Detroit chili dogs might find their way to a certain address in a certain city in a certain state called Texas...