Duckies

 It was a running gag in the household for some time, the portentous voiceover from a satire of those "mysteries of pseudoscience" TV shows: "Ducks. What are they? Where do they come from? Why are they here? What do they want?"

Today, while vainly searching for straws in the compartment between seats in the car, Gideon pulled up a tiny Ziploc bag containing miniature rubber duckies.

Immediately, I pondered the question: why did the car not have the stash of straws it ought to have, and why did it instead have an emergency supply of duckies?

Gideon made the careful observation that they were both hippie ducks, a boy and a girl hippie duck, as we bantered back and forth on the subject.

Suddenly, as we waited for the Wendy's servers to produce our drinks, I realized what they were: a pair of cake toppers which Kathe had bought and tucked away for me to find and coo over. Exactly the sort of sweet, sappy thing she would do. Or that I would do, but I'm pretty sure I didn't, so it must have been Kathe.

Thanks, Sweetie.

The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Kathe lives you. That won't change."