Every once in a so often, I return home to a sticky note (stolen from my stash without repayment) bearing a note from my girlfriend. Sometimes she is returning something, sometimes not. Always the same note.
It is always a welcome sight.
One morning, I expected her visit, so I wrote one of my own for her, which you can see above.
I wrote, “I love you, baby” with the exclamation point. Handwriting experts would agree to disagree on my sample: my slashing angles and downward tilt (I am right-handed, by the way) certainly indicate my slashing anger and the general downward tilt of my outlook on life and personality—OR—the many open-topped letters, vowels and consonants alike, just as certainly indicate my hopeful, generous, and naive spirit.
(For me, snickers are not just a brand of candy bar.)
Jen, my girlfriend, drew the smiley face in reply. A hand-made emoticon. The most old-fashioned text message exchange, with real text and real messages. Her handwriting is far more legible than mine is. Neither of us is an indecisive person, judging from the sample.
There are three of these notes on my desk right now and a couple more floating around inside.
And now we are off to dinner.
The WordPress Daily Prompt for September 11 asks, “When was the last time you wrote something by hand? What was it?”
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