Sins of Omission

The human female–prepare to be astounded–actually has friends.  I know!  It surprised me, too!  Some of these friends she hasn’t actually met–they merely correspond via the computer.  If they ever got a good look at her, I’m sure they’d run screaming for the woodwork.

Recently she drew scratched out a little picture for one of these friends.  Somehow deeming it worthy of display, she went and bought a frame for it.  She carefully polished the glass in the frame and figured out how to mount the awkwardly-sized scribble.  Then she spent an inordinate amount of time finding a suitable box and padding.  It was fun watching her try to find the bubble-wrap, which she was certain she had but which I have carefully hidden.  (It will fall out at her when next she opens the spare-room closet.)

Behold the finished package, a veritable masterpiece of wrinkled, mis-cut paper; twisted tape; and haphazard cushioning:


Yes, indeed.  All done.  Except, of course, for this one itty-bitty thing, which I hold in my own two hands.


All the hanging hardware.


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