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| Blogs > rsbrandt44 > They Call Me...The Professor |
My Baby, He Wrote Me A Letter
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My Baby, He Wrote Me A Letter The wee hours of Thursday morning found me sitting in a Waffle House across from a woman half my age, probably not for the first nor the last time. But of more significance is the tale of my friend A., I met through a mutual acquaintance back in...May? We seemed it off like a house on fire, but then she dropped entirely of sight after our first meeting. I spent a month searching vainly for her. Not be too stalker-y, but I asked Verizon for a for her in Spanish Fort, where she said her house was, and although the had been suspended (just as she said), they did provided me with a mailing address. I sent her a apologizing for being all stalker-y and all that but explaining that, well, I missed her, and her beautiful and her upside-down cases, and, well, I just plain missed her. After a month she finally turned up again, and we became fast friends. But today, we happened to be driving along with of her friends around the corner from my home, so I suggested that we swing by my house so I could check my mail, among other things. my astonishment, there in the mailbox was the very first of many cards that I had written for her, postmarked July , and returned as undeliverable. The heck you say. I handed it her myself. "I still feel exactly the way," I told her. "Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year." - Ralph Waldo Emerson |
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