Upon arriving home from a busy and stressful day at work (though a grateful one, present economic crisis considered) I was feeling a bit tired and, let's be honest, grumpy. Especially after finding in the mail an envelope addressed to me from a certain local hospital. The one where I with some protestation let them remove an bilious health risk through my belly button. Like in The Matrix. Gross.
I opened it up, and guess what it was. Seriously. Guess.
NOPE. It was NOT a bill.
For some unknowable reason, the hospital sent me a check for $50. No explanation. No accompanying hand-written note of apology. No enigmatic letter saying all I had to do was send them my bank account and social security numbers to claim my prize from a hospital lottery I hadn't entered. No entreaty from the deposed president of the hospital asking me to wire him $50 then deposit this check.
In short, it was the season's first Christmas Miracle.
No matter that it's not even October. In the spirit of the American big box retailer, I am embracing Christmas in September. Because nothing could explain this good fortune other than the Christ child.
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