The phone wakes me up. I look around, a bit confused, I hear it ringing but cannot see it. It stops. Awake now still looking, oh! It's still in the backpack. I call the number, it says, "Washington." And I wonder who in Washington is calling me, it's even earlier there. Turns out it's a delivery. They're downstairs. The callbox is not working for me. We cannot get it together. "I'll be right down, give me a minute. I'm putting on my shoes."
I literally stumble out of the door and down the hallway. My legs are not working. They don't respond to demands anymore, but they do get me down the elevator and through the first floor hallway. I apologize profusely for being so difficult. The delivery guy, a foreigner with an Indian accent, is gracious as all of them are. I continually marvel at the grace extended to me that exceeds what I've shown. It blows my mind. The package is heavier than expected. "Know what this is?" Of course not.
"It's rice paper that melts in your mouth, to wrap candy."
All that for just that. He smiles broadly. "Good luck with your candy."
Want to see something totally stew-pud? Here goes.
Rice paper is made from potatoes.