The title is a true story. It just happened like 30 seconds ago.
So, here's my post.
As I sat knitting in my room (a long digression: everyone is getting knit Christmas presents this year; get ready for a pair of socks, hat, or Christmas ornament. Sorry if you hate homemade gifts, I know many people who do [i.e. my mom]; it’s okay, just consider yourself warned and be discreet if you are going to throw away whatever I give you)
Wait where was I?
Oh yeah. So I sat in my room, knitting and listening to U2. Somehow my mind wandered onto a slightly arbitrary topic: love letters. I was thinking about how my mom used to find ones that my brother’s ex-girlfriend wrote him. We weren’t supposed to read them, but that is the price you pay when you are in your twenties and your mom still does your laundry. She would find them on the floor of his room, randomly tucked in books she was about to throw away, in old coat pockets. My mom and I would read them, and then throw them away to prevent his current girlfriend (who subsequently became his wife) from finding them on her many weekend visits.
My mom didn’t find one or two, but easily a dozen. Which got me thinking, will I write love letters? The opportunity has not presented itself yet, but I can’t really see myself writing them. I like to write, and I like to be affectionate, but other than in a birthday card, I can’t see the two interests coming together in the form of a love letter. How do you even present one?
“Hey man, I wrote you this. Enjoy!”
Or do you just leave it somewhere he will find it and hope that he reads it. What if he doesn’t say anything? I would end up torturing myself with the inevitable question: did he just not see it, or did he find it and choose not to say anything?
Oh well. This really isn’t a problem for me right now, but hopefully at some point it will be.
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1 comment:
fyi, i would still eat that cereal
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