Last week when we were moving, dear Husband was positioning the 26-foot U-Haul truck in our dear little driveway.  Charming little street = tight angles for a huge moving truck.

He was a good way up our neighbor’s driveway (angling the truck to make a straight shot toward our front door) when the angles got askew and he began to take out the neighbor’s driveway-bush with abandon.  Lots of loud snaps and crackles, the smell of fresh wood…  Wife with wild arms like those air-filled monsters at car stores.

The new neighbor bounds out (what a way to meet someone!) and says, “Don’t worry about the bush!”  I was a bit taken aback, but recovered quickly, “We’ll replace it!  We’ll pay for it!  I’m sorry!!”  He says, “No, I’m serious, don’t worry about it!”  (I still haven’t caught on, stuck as I am in my sarcasm bubble)  “I’m so sorry, I’m Emily, it’s good to meet you.  Like I said, we’ll pay for it.”  “No, really, I mean it–we’re going to prune it anyway, it’ll be fine.”

It took far, far too long for me to believe that the man actually meant what he said.  How have we wrapped ourselves up in the bubble wrap of sarcasm, that we cannot discern true kindness and vulnerability?

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