Toothpicks.

Toothpicks. They're the new "cup of sugar". At least that's how it was two weeks ago around here.

I get a call from my neighbor. She never calls.
I thought something was wrong.

Her son is making a cake for Cub Scouts. Each year the pack has a cake bake auction as a fund raiser. George dropped out of Cub Scouts two weeks before this. Den meetings were boring...

Anyway, her son is making a Guitar Cake and needed toothpicks to use as part of the tuner keys. She asks for six. I dig my supply out of the cake decorating box, and meet her son outside and give him my entire box. To be neighborly. In case they break a toothpick or something.

To date, I've heard nothing.

No "thanks".
No "the cake turned out great."
No "we had to buy our cake so our son wasn't upset"
No "we raised over $300 as a pack"

I thought it was kind of strange.

But that's okay. Life is busy.
I totally get that!

And so, I'm here yesterday -- a week or two later -- and I'm heading upstairs for the umpteenth time. And for the umpteenth time I scoot George's huge bag away from the stair step with my toe. (It's holding his collection of Pokemon and Baseball cards. Including this huge binder!)

And as I begin my ascent on the stairs, I see it.

A baggie that has slipped out of the bag.
A baggie that contains my box of toothpicks.

Sent home, no doubt, the very next day when George was comparing collections with her son!

How funny!