Wednesday, December 29, 2010

happy (giddy) christmas

First, we'll spend fifteen minutes laughing at each other (while we pantomime and type). Then, when we finally get the problem fixed and we can hear each other, make sure you say: "Look, ...at this rate, we only have fifty or sixty conversations left--maximum."

It's sad. And you're right. (We should talk more than once a year.) So I'll say, "When are you coming back to the United States?" Before you can answer I'll say, "Let's get married. You owe me." I'll tell you that I'm really really really willing to live in a cold, foreign place where I will probably have to ignite the pilot light by hand (in order to take a hot shower), and you'll say you'd rather live in Southern California. Anyways, ignore the offer and promise instead to meet me in Spain. In Barcelona. Tell me about the Ukrainian immigrants who live there. Then show me your Christmas lights. And, through the glass of the bay windows in your apartment-- the city where you live.

Merry Christmas.

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