With Love, XOXOXOXO

Love letters. When I was 18, 19, 20...apparently I wrote lots of 'em to hubby. I have no recollection of doing this, but I did. And I have proof-- I just found it the other day in a previously unexplored corner of the house. (A whole stack of proof, in fact.)

That's one of the advantages to living in your husband's former home; finding little pieces of history you didn't even know existed.

You know what another advantage is? Finding all the love letters the others wrote too. And oh, I found some juicy ones! In fact, I discovered many that made me wonder why on earth his mother chose to save them. (I mean, didn't they make her blush tomato red?) All in all, they made for a very interesting afternoon of reading.

But every now and then I couldn't hold it in....

"Hubby! What did Bambi mean when she said---?"

"Hubby! Why did Trixie tell you that---?"

"Hubby! I cannot believe you did/said/thought---!"

"Hubby! Did Candy really---?"

"So, Cherry was pretty hot then, eh?"

Pretty soon hubby came traipsing into the room, curiosity getting the better of him, only to find me surrounded by a pile of letters. Letters written on napkins, letters written on Hallmark cards, letters on paper towels, on notebook paper, letters with pictures, letters containing confetti, lipstick kisses, the remnants of old fragrance.... Letters proclaiming undying devotion, heartsickness over break-ups, letters pieced together from magazine clippings, memories of good times together (sometimes too "good", in all honesty).

"Where did you get those?" he asked, looking a bit sick.

"Your mom saved them. Did she read this one-- hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" I proffered one of the more interesting notes. He sputtered.

"Ugh! Throw them away!"

"Are you sure? They're your history!"

"They're evil."

"They're a lot like the ones I wrote," I said flatly.

"That's different...."

(You got that right, buster.) But, reluctantly, I did as he asked and threw them away. Sigh.

And the ones I wrote? Well, I kept those, as ridiculous as they were. (Who was that girl, anyway? Was I really that...insipid? Good grief, give me a pen and paper and see what kind of letter I can write now.)

As for hubby's fake I.D. I found...that's another story altogether. (Unfortunately, hubby got his hands on that one and shredded it too.) Oh, I just love treasure hunting in this house!