Come and Knock On Our Door...

Set the scene: Mike is cooking dinner and I'm standing next to him in the kitchen drinking a gin and tonic. Hard to believe, I know.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. We both look at each other. Having lived in apartments for the past 7 years, my experience with doorbells means 1 of 2 things: the UPS guy or Jehovah's witnesses.

I slowly open the door and am greeted by two people I've never seen before...who are holding this:

Yes people, our neighbors baked us cookies.

At this point I would like to mention that Mike and I are both wearing sweatshirts and sweatpants, and the house is a mess. We awkwardly introduce ourselves and just kind of stand on the porch. Maybe we should have invited them in, but we're new at this!

The couple is actually the cop I have mentioned before and his girlfriend. They talk about how they wanted to come over earlier but "it seems like one car is here and then the other isn't and then no cars are here; it's confusing!" Mike explains he is a fireman, and the cop looks impressed. Civil service neighborhood, here we come.

They were here for maybe 2 minutes, but I think I said "You're so sweet!" about 13 times. I still have a perma-grin on my face. Mike says the cookies are great.

Life is good.