Dear John,
Did you know that when you pat a cat where its lungs are, it sounds hollow? It's an odd thing.
My work day was short and sweet, not me. I am clearly neither. I'm five foot seven and an independent, strong-minded, smart-mouthed woman, as you immediately noticed when we first met. I never wanted to be sweet, rather like Annie Savoy never wanted to be cute. Unlike Annie, I've never wanted to be exotic and mysterious, either. I'm quite happy being independent, strong-minded, and smart-mouthed. After all, that's what you fell in love with. So it has to be good.
I worked my four hours today. It always feels so short, since my regular days are 9 1/2 hours and my long Fridays are 11. There wasn't any construction today, so I didn't miss anything not being in the drive-up. I actually was there for an hour, helping get the horse-sale-week night drop processed. I always enjoy this week, but I'm glad when it's done. None of us could keep this up for much longer than a week.

So my bracket is turned in and we'll see how it goes. UK plays Hampton at 9:30 tonight, and I don't think I can possibly stay up for it and get up for work at 5:30. I should be safe missing this one. And if something happens and we lose to Hampton, I don't believe I want to see it.
I've managed to say a lot about a day that was short and sweet, haven't I? We never have had trouble talking to each other. I could babble away to you all night. But tomorrow will come early and it's time for bed. I'll miss you between those flannel sheets tonight.
Your not-short, not-sweet wife,
Joan.
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