The cat has forgiven me for leaving for the weekend. She's so forgiving that she's climbing all over me while I write, batting at my chin to get my attention and digging her claws into my arms and legs. I think I'd rather she held that grudge a bit lon--

ger. Okay, I'm back. I wouldn't mind so much except she drools when she's happy. So I get acupuncture, a massage, and a shower all at the same time. Yuck.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I bought a book of stamps from the vending machine in the post office lobby. I slipped the machine a ten dollar bill and it coughed up a dollar something in change and two books of stamps.

I hate when that happens. Or when a clerk gives me too much change. Or the time an 89 cent pack of index cards didn't get scanned because they hid under the $20 sack of dog food.

I don't have a problem paying for stuff. I didn't begrudge the 89 cents I owed Target. What frustrated me was the time I spent walking back to the store and standing in line. And the look of amazement and yes, the clerks are sometimes a little rude, just adds to the whole dilemma.

For some reason, every time I return extra change or pay for something that slipped through, I'm treated like I'm an idiot for not keeping the free stuff.

It would be so much easier to slip the extra stamps or whatever into my purse and forget about it. And who would know?

I would. So would God.

When I saw the second book of stamps I knew it meant standing in line and explaining why I wanted to give stamps to the post office.

The first thought in my head was Okay, God. I'm going to do the right thing so there better be something in it for me. Something better than an $8 book of stamps. A lottery win would do. Or maybe a free pass from the power company on my August bill. Something.

Then I had to wonder: If I do the right thing, is it negated when I expect to get something out of it for me?

There's a Friends episode where Joey and Phoebe debate this very thing. Joey is convinced doing good is selfish because there's always something in it for the doer/donater. Phoebe tries to find something she can do for someone else that she doesn't enjoy.

I wish I could remember how it ends...

In real life, I gave the stamps back (no line to wait in!), endured the look of incredulity, accepted the surprised and half-hearted, "Thanks," and went on my way.

No winning lottery ticket was on the ground waiting to be found. No Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes in the mailbox. Not even a lovely note from the power company thanking me for supporting them during the summer months.

I guess no line to wait in was what was in it for me.

I'll take it.

And it's not going too badly, compared with some of my friends. I use hormone creams that control the hot flashes. Stayfree makes enough variety of protection that I'm rarely (but not never) inconvenienced.

No, it's the mood swings I hate.

I can be sitting quietly, reading in the back yard. I'll look up and see a particularly beautiful sunset and I'm crying.

A stranger who glimpsed a recent gathering of friends and family would have thought he stumbled into a funeral if he'd seen me sobbing.

Mr. Stud calls the hormone creams my "Happy Cream." Because they do help me not be mean. Most of the time. But at controlling sentimental outbursts... not so much.

and I think I might possibly have a slight addiction to tote bags.

I only have at least a dozen in different sizes and colors. But if I see a freebie promo tote, I hear it calling to me. I've managed to find uses for many of my totes, but I always need just one more.

I made a special trip ten miles out of my way last March to spend money I shouldn't have to buy some stuff I didn't need, just to get a free flowered bag. It's not even that nice, just some fabric sewed into a bag shape. No lining. No structure to make it stand up. A fabric bag. But it was free. So I had to have it.

Last night we were headed to a softball game and I didn't have a tote the right shape to put some water bottles in. I wanted a rectangular one and all I had were deep ones. Which worked just fine, but it wasn't what I wanted.

I have practical totes and I have a gorgeous huge tote with a Laurel Birch cat embroidered and sequined on. But that one is too beautiful to actually use.

I have totes that advertise hotels and conferences. I have handmade totes with my granddaughter's handprints on it. But I don't have the one I need.

Of course, I won't know which one I need until I see it.

I've been cleaning out cupboards and closets. If I can bring myself to give away the advertising totes, I just might have room for a pretty one.

... Here I am. I remembered the lyrics to the old Judy Garland song about friendship this weekend.

I think I'll call my hubby Mr. Stud. He'll like that nickname.

So, Mr. Stud and I recently had different people tell us the same thing and it got me thinking.

Two friends who don't know each other both said that we had done special things for them and they remembered it and appreciated it.

The friend who spoke to me (let's call her Viola -- sorry, I just watched Shakespeare in Love and I'm full of Elizabethan names and the language). Anyway, Viola is doing a nice thing for my daughter and when I thanked her, I said I had the best friends and I was very appreciative of what she's doing.

She replied, "It's because of who you are that you have the friends you do. Viola went on to say something we had done for her had meant a lot and she was glad for this chance to do something for us.

Mr. Stud was talking to a different friend (let's call him Mercutio) who thanked us for staying friends when he went through a tough time.

Mr. Stud shrugged it off and when he told me about the comment, I was also nonchalant and said, "Yes, but that's what we do. We stick with our friends."

And the little light bulb went off.

Mr. Stud never met a stranger. He can talk about anything to anyone at anytime.

I take my time getting to know someone.

But we're the same when it comes to how we treat our friends. We may not get to see them as often as we'd like, but our friendships last a lifetime. I'm still friends with my best friend in high school and have been since my family moved away over 33 years ago.

It's the Golden Rule: Be the friend you want and you'll have the friends you want.

Sometimes that means stretching and having to do something that's inconvenient. Sometimes it means listening and not sharing a story about something even worse that you experienced.

It's good to have someone who can say to you, "If you're ever in a mess... S.O.S."

I just finished crafting a really elegant post about choices and how they fill the day. I added some pithy thoughts about blogging and gave a few links to some outstanding blogs. I spellchecked. I clicked 'Save !' ... and the whole thing disappeared.

So, I was gonna post today. But this is what you got.