My flatmate has a hot water bottle cover she calls bumble. It's a bumble bee, although sometimes she argues that it's a cat when she gets lost in nostalgia and mistakes anything slightly furry for her beloved fat cat.
My flatmate knows me. She knows when I'm sad and she knew it last night. So she told me I could have bumble for the night. Bumble then sat on my belly for the evening and provided a little comfort.
It wasn't even bumble that made me feel better. It was the gesture. The giving up of something for another's happiness. The grand sacrifice we see so little in our self absorbed bubbles. She doesn't know how much it means to me, and she probably won't (Until she reads this, in which case, Hi Lou. You're excellent.)
Give someone your bumble.
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