It is a dark and stormy night. It’s a mild mid-afternoon in Laramie and Carissa & I head to Safeway for our back-to-school grocery shopping. Our weekly trips are usually painfully slow and expensive, so it is a given that this one will be knee-buckling.
I am dressed in my normal summer frump, while next to me, Carissa is a vision to behold. We meander up and down the aisle for hours, sometimes together, sometimes splitting up when both a dairy product and a carbohydrate are required simultaneously.
With a heavy cart, we are finally ready to purchase our goods.
Alas! What’s this?!
A shy Safeway lad humbly taps upon the nymph’s shoulder. She is confused; did she drop something?
A flower? A note? Love?
The note– scribbled hastily, with passion, on the torn corner of the Safeway weekly specials–reads:
Your very beautiful
you should call me
sometime
622-###-####
Doesn’t the lack of punctuation and the letter “e” make it simply poetic?