Why we simply can't be trusted

As I wrote a couple of days ago, Meelyn, Aisling and I made Christmas cookies with my mother on Friday, spending all afternoon up to our elbows in butter and pecans and some very nasty little pieces of dried fruit that Nanny insisted would be delicious in vanilla fudge.

(They weren't.)

Anyway, when we got home, I wrote that the girls, with Santa hats on their heads, went around to the neighbors and delivered the little cookie tins. But what I didn't add was that we also had a cookie tin for Aisling's piano teacher, who lives 'way out in the country.

Well, there was no time to go out there right then and deliver her cookies, because my husband was going to be home from work shortly. And there wasn't time later, because we watched Christmas movies and went to Wal-Mart. And there wasn't time on Saturday because we ate all the cookies out of her tin somewhere between the hours of 10:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m.

It's the thought that counts, remember. And I seriously thought that we'd take her those cookies. So have a merry Christmas anyhow, Mrs. Wheeler.

Wow, do I ever feel guilty. Now what am I going to give her?