Oh, the things you find when you move. In addition to the bad artwork I mentioned last week, I uncovered a stack of letters I’d written to my guardian angel when I was in high school and college.
They’re gushy, badly-written, and they all say basically the same thing. Angel, I’m very, very sorry.
Being a glutton for punishment, I opened some and read them, and this snippet made the pain worthwhile:
I just finished reading that book on Fatima, and you still haven’t answered my question: can you speak in italics? The angel in that book always spoke in italics. And do you say ‘[emphasis added]’ after every sentence?
Good grief, I was a wiseacre when I wasn’t being hormonal. Add one more person to whom I owe a case of hard liquor for putting up with me during my teens.
