Dear Becca, I saw what you did, and Gary Larson would be happy.
Sixteen days ago, I was impatiently waiting for you in our automobile, and it was raining. You walked out of the establishment you were in and I willed you to walk faster. Because you were walking at a pace in inverse relationship to my desired traveling pace for you. Very slow. I had something very important to do. I don’t remember what. But it was important. You were fourteen meters from our auto, and you stopped and stooped over. You picked something up. The rain poured and my patience died. You slowly, carefully moved what it was you were moving off into the dirt. At this point I realized what it was you were doing.
It was a worm. A worm you were moving from the sidewalk to a safe, pedestrian-free home in the dirt. You arose without anyone having noticed. Or so you thought. But I did. I said nothing when you got in. But I want you to know that I knew. Today feels like the right day to let you know what I knew then and know now. I know what you did. You saved that worm’s life. You may have prevented me from doing whatever it was that I needed to do that was very important to our family’s future, and because of your choice that caused us to run later, our family may bear the consequences of your choice for years to come, but you will have that self-satisfied smile and warm heart to know that you sacrificed part of our family’s future for that worm. It will never thank you, because it lacks a brain, and communication skills, and pretty much everything else. But it will continue living, and composting, and you can know that it would have made Gary Larson proud.
And me a tiny bit. Thanks for saving lives.
Hurry home today though.