Mirror Mirror on the Wall.

Poor Sheldon, I keep thinking.

It was bad enough when Eileen lovingly dropped off a bowl of soup and cookies on Friday and found me and my house in a state of semi-disaster. Oh dear, I thought, realizing that the state of my insides were reflected in the chaos of my surroundings.  But then on Saturday afternoon, while I was at home alone, the doorbell rang.  I automatically went to answer it.  It was Sheldon, toting a bag of perfectly shaped, artistically crafted perogies, made by his lovely (and clearly culinarily talented) wife, Hilary.  Comfort food for the wounded.  Another kind and thoughtful thing to do, and I was so touched.  We've received both flowers and food in the past few days, from thoughtful and generous friends, and I've been overwhelmed.  I think I might have hugged Sheldon twice.  I could have used a third, but it's probably better this way because he likely would have ended up with a blubbering woman on his hands...I was near enough tears as it was.

At least my house was a bit tidier than it had been a day earlier.

But alas - I wasn't.  After Sheldon left, I happened to look in a mirror and gasped, thinking simultaneously that I'd surely lost a friend now.  It was a horrible sight.  I hadn't showered (again), had red eyes, big bags underneath them from all of the sleepless nights of late, no makeup to cover any of it up, and was sporting greasy hair that should have been washed at least 24 hours earlier.  Even more regrettably, I was still (at 4:30 in the afternoon - I know, I know) wearing my (bright) purple pajamas...you know, the ones that aren't particularly flattering at the best of times but that feel comfortable and comforting on days when getting dressed seems too much to ask.

So yes.  Poor Sheldon.  I'm sure it was the shock that had him backing out the door about a minute after arriving.  And I can't blame him.  But remembering Sheldon at my door was the motivator for me to get into the shower the next morning (and please don't take that the wrong way).  And at least I laughed for the first time in a couple of weeks - even if it was at myself.  Come to think of it, perhaps the laughter was the best gift of all.