When I was younger, my parents gave me a beautifully designed book for Easter. I brought it to school one day and I don’t remember the exact circumstances–whether I had it out in the rain, or dropped it in a puddle, or both–but it got soaked.
My mom dried it out, but the pages were forever crinkled, the cover a bit warped. I treasured it even more after that because I felt so terrible that it had gone through such an ordeal. Read the rest of this entry »