Those notes that you wrote me, I’ve kept them all – even the ones you taped on the wall by the window, or the pink ones on the mirror frame – so wherever I looked I’d always see your name. I even saved those lists you used to leave in the hall. I look at them now and think gosh girl, what a scrawl
What is it with women – can’t give ‘em a pen they don’t wear it out in a week. Sure they’d rather write letters (that go on forever) than give you a peck on the cheek. But I have yours still – on the bedroom window sill – and at last they have proved of some use: see, they serve as window jam – so it don’t fall and go BAM! – and make me spill all my fresh orange juice.