My cousin Whitney (creator of Stoplight Golight, mob buster, cheerleader, and receiver of nuts) has three boys, ten-year old twins and a very saucy almost-eight year old. The boys missed Christmas this year. I sent their chocolate bars home with their mother, having complete faith in my cousin Whitney to actually give them the chocolate.
This week, I got this thank you note in the mail:
To the Davis family thank you for the chocolate bar. I did not really eat it my mom and her friend ate it with peanut butter. From Gavin.
Then Whitney comments below:
It was good! He was mad-can you tell?
Gavin's always had a special place in my heart. One summer at our reunion, the boy gashed his knee wide open. Blood was gushing everywhere and his momma scoffed--SCOFFED--at his request for a bandaid. I took that precious boy to my cabin and bandaged his knee up ... once we found the cut again because, by that point, it was hard to find. That boy heals fast. Then, just to make sure Gavin knew I loved him better than his momma, I let him put 20 extra bandaids all up and down his legs.
Actually, it might have been Brecken that scratched his knee. Whatever. They look alike; they're twins; they don't really care if we can tell them apart, right?
But, when I saw that thank you card, I knew. This was my chance, my friends. This was my chance to secure my place in the top COOL spot.
So, I sent Gavin this.
I included a note that gave him permission to not share any of it--least of all with his momma. I assured him that his momma had her own chocolate stashed some where in their house hidden from him. All mommas do.
I'm pretty sure when he opens his box, I'll always be the coolest.
