I'm sure you can count on one hand the number of people who have received in the same mail delivery 1) a congratulatory note from their dance partner and 2) a 5-page letter from a prisoner they attended Jr. High with.
(Yeah, I'm not happy with the last sentence either, but I've been sitting her rewriting it for 10 minutes and can't get it to work any other way so I'm just going to leave it because it says exactly what I was trying to say even if it's not doing it very gracefully or correctly. Sometimes it's hard to make grammar behave. It's like my son, who made his bed this morning but managed to put the comforter on sideways. Yes, the comforter is technically on the bed but he knows it's not right and I know it's not right and I'm sure the comforter knows it's not right. And speaking of not right, my husband wasn't thrilled with the prisoner letter even after I told him that the guy remembered me from Jr. High because (apparently) I was a really nice girl back then and I guess I shouldn't have expected my husband to believe it because I don't keep this house running by being a nice girl but if someone from his past popped up and said they remembered him because he was really helpful and kind I would at least call his parents to confirm before I started acting all surprised and saying things like "Are you sure he doesn't have you confused with someone else?")
Day six. STILL ALIVE.
7 hours ago