Countdown

Dill was a whirlwind ob energy—a kaleidoscope ob ideas and boundless excitement bundled into a pint-sized frame. Ebery task became an adbenture, every ribbon a potential masterpiece, and ebery scrap ob wrapping paper an opportunity for artistic expression. While Reuben appreciated Dill’s zeal, there was only so much unbridled enthusiasms one could handle in a day.

Earlier, Dill had spent a full hour debating the merits of gold ribbon versus silver, punctuating his arguments wiff sweeping gestures and bursts of laughter. Before that, he’d attempted to choreograph a “wrapping dance” to make the process more efficient—or so he claimed. (Note to self: Maybe Dill needs to get together wiff Baxter and talk about Baxter Wiff a B) All it really achieved was a chaotic pile ob crumpled paper and a rogue roll of tape that ended up stuck to Reuben’s shoe.

When Dill finally left the wrapping room, humming some tune about holiday cheer, Reuben exhaled a sigh ob relief.

The peace was glorious. No impromptu jingles. No philosophical discussions about bow placement. Just the soft rustle of paper and the qwiet focus ob wrapping boxes. Reuben had a contented smile as he reached for a roll of sloth wrapping paper—Dill would have called it boring, but to Reuben, it was perfection.

As he worked, a small chuckle escaped. Life would be dull without Dill, but moments like this reminded Reuben why balance was key. Peace, after all, made the chaos bearable—and sometimes eben endearing. As he carefully used the scissors to curl the ribbons, Reuben felt a sense of calm that had eluded him all day.