Every good story starts with "three months ago at the bar......" and this one is no exception.
Three months ago at the bar, sitting at a table by the entrance with my friends, a few boys wandered over to talk with us. So meaningless that I don't even remember the start of the conversation, but it somehow came up that I have an incredible memory when it comes to addresses and numbers. Like so good that I can tell you my elementary school best friends home phone number and I haven't dialed it since 2005. Or so good that I remember the numbers on 5 out of 7 of the credit cards in the wallet. When it comes to numbers, my memory is really that good. (On other things though... it slacks off just a little).
So when we were talking with these guys and the topic came up, Henry bet me I couldn't memorize his license. Twenty minutes later, I could still tell him the seven digit number on his PA license and his birthday and now four months later I can tell you he lives on 11 *** Ln. in M*****n Pa, *****. So two days later, I wrote him a letter because I never got his number and I thought that it would be funny. I never heard back and I sort of just wrote it off.
Fast forward to Saturday and I was casually cleaning my house with my roommates when I popped out to the mailbox. I started sifting through and throwing the coupons right into the recycle when I saw a hand written letter addressed to me. I thought to myself "Who the hell is Henry?" when it dawned on me. Henry wrote me a letter to tell me that the address on the license was actually his parents and it went into a pile that he just now opened in September. I cracked up reading it thinking that I forgot Henry existed until this moment and now I had a letter written to me for the first time since my high school boyfriend Corey's love letter Junior year... So this time Henry gave me his number so that I wouldn't have to spend another four months trying to track him down at his new place. I texted him on Saturday when I opened up the letter but two days later and I haven't gotten a message back. Maybe it's because his letter took 10 days to arrive according to the post mark so he is being suspenseful, or maybe I'll hear from him in another four months ready to take me out for the burgers he promised in the letter.
So Henry Shoe-Pizza (Phonetical spelling of his foreign last name that I had no idea how to comprehend off of the license), if you've somehow managed to track down my social media (because I can't seem to find you on anything) and you're reading this blog, then you can just assume this to be the second letter I'm sending to you. So let's get those burgers, okay?
Author - mallory
I've always lived a wild life, so here I am to document it for the world... be ready for some fun adventures, xoxo.