The Gift Fairy Cometh

There's a paranormal phenomenon going on in our house. Once every other month or so, mysterious packages will show up unannounced, unpack themselves and end up in my hands. Sometimes they are things I've just glanced at in a catalogue; other times they've been circled in the catalogue for me to consider on a rainy day; sometimes they are completely mysterious -- something I didn't even know I'd wanted. I call these little interludes visits from the Gift Fairy.

As you can imagine, the Gift Fairy is incredible perceptive -- and well-heeled. The Gift Fairy has this uncanny knack for knowing not only what I like, but also what I love but would never ask for in a million years. All I have to do is look longingly at something for more than, say, 5 seconds, and somehow the Gift Fairy receives telepathic signals that this item should be gotten for me, by hook or by crook. That's the up side.

The down side is that -- really and truly, from the top of my head to the bottom of my cute lil' Southern toes -- I am not high maintenance and do not need much "stuff". I'm the choosiest shopper on the planet. Before purchasing, I inspect and examine everything; I consider the usefullness, durability, cost and space requirements of each item; examine my budget; weigh the purchase against the staple needs of our household and then make my decision to purchase (or not purchase) the item. I am scrupulous about this. I make sure that frivolous items are stricken from the grocery list; I buy low-cost, good quality toiletries and paper goods; and I can pinch a penny so hard it squeals. Whenever Tef gives me a budget, I never -- NEVER -- exceed it. Most of the time, I come in under it.

So these visits from the Gift Fairy (who interestingly looks a lot like my husband) disconcert me a little bit. My Puritanical instincts are offended that someone would spend so much money on something for me that I will own only to enjoy [shudder]. It takes money away from sensible things (like car repair or the savings account) and so makes me feel a bit guilty and fussed over a tad too much. I think that's why the Gift Fairy enjoys it so much. Because I don't ask.

Yesterday, the Gift Fairy marched into the bedroom (where I was resting) with a stack of pretty boxes and announced with a huge smile on his face that the UPS man had delivered some things to our house by mistake.

"Mistake" #1: Smells mild and relaxing; one of my ol' favorites.


















"Mistake" #2: Soooo yummy-smelling, orange oatmeal...



















#3: Will just about knock you down in its waft, but the honey and goats milk are unmistakable and very nice.


















#4, #5, & #6: The first two are lemon-ginger (and look lovely at my kitchen sink); the third smells divine and goes on light and stays on without getting greasy or gunky (and who could resist the packaging?).




















































And to top off all the skin care, smell-good-i-ness, #7: Which smells so good you could eat it.


















And I love the boxes they came in. They look so bucolic and story-book. I think I might save them for a collage project later on. I just sat in bed and took turns smelling them all, looking at the boxes and them smelling them all over again. I can't wait until my Suave honey-vanilla body wash runs out so I can try them out. I'm not gonna' need soap for a year or more. The correct rotation of scent is also crucial, since Domestic Bliss and Orange Oatmeal are singles and their brothers and sisters came in triplicate. I think I'll line them up on the floor in the precise order they should be used, like a little soap train. I'll imagine that I am the Princess of Glycerin and that I'm married to a wealthy spice trader who sends me exotic gifts from afar.

But this -- THIS! -- is the topper:















This one made me cry.


OHHH, Gift Fairy! You naughty, NAUGHTY scamp!