A couple weeks ago, slipped in the far reaches of my mailbox, I found a note that took me back to the good ol' days of elementary school.
You know what I'm talking about. Remember how you would just be sitting at your desk, one leg pumping back and forth, pencil eraser nudging your bottom lip, as you tried to puzzle out those mind-boggling multiplication tables? And then, out of the corner of your eye, you would see Andy passing a note to Melissa, who would then pass it on to Mark, who would then palm it off to you right before Mrs. Nelson turned around from the blackboard. Your name would be written all in cursive and curly-q's on the clumsily folded paper. Carefully, stealthily, you unfold the paper to find:
Well, InterAmerican sent me a 'check yes or no' note, and it raised the same sensation of anxiety that those old love notes of yesterday used to inspire. Instead of the traditional, "do you like me?" question, it was the "will you continue …
You know what I'm talking about. Remember how you would just be sitting at your desk, one leg pumping back and forth, pencil eraser nudging your bottom lip, as you tried to puzzle out those mind-boggling multiplication tables? And then, out of the corner of your eye, you would see Andy passing a note to Melissa, who would then pass it on to Mark, who would then palm it off to you right before Mrs. Nelson turned around from the blackboard. Your name would be written all in cursive and curly-q's on the clumsily folded paper. Carefully, stealthily, you unfold the paper to find:
Well, InterAmerican sent me a 'check yes or no' note, and it raised the same sensation of anxiety that those old love notes of yesterday used to inspire. Instead of the traditional, "do you like me?" question, it was the "will you continue …