The mail arrived with a envelope addressed to #3. It is hard to qualify the measure of joy that one envelope with a stamp and your name on it can muster. . . but it's a lot. This small, white, flat, shroud of limitless possibility held within it an invitation to a birthday party of a girl in #3's class. It still being early in the year, I haven't yet become familiar with all the names of the female stock in this 1st grade class, so I asked if this particular young lady was a friend and if this party was of interest. . .
Him: Oh, yes. . .I always love birthdays.
Me: Okay, is she your friend?
Him: Of course! Everyone is my friend.
Me: Okay, do you talk to her?
Him: Well, I've only heard her talk maybe 40 or 50 times, so not very much. That's hardly any talking, in my book. And she's talks kind of British, like maybe she's from France.
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