Letter seven 17-11-2025
A Letter to My Father
As I was about to begin this letter I noticed that I had not capitalized a word in the title. I keep all these letters on my MacBook in a binder and use a simple naming convention along with the date that I change once I post. One word was not capitalized and that stopped me from beginning until I fixed it.
Is that a quirk I get from you or from my mom? Or am I just weird?
Funny as that is, I will likely be thinking about it for the next few days. I still think about that weekend in Palm Springs. You dragged us to a timeshare sales weekend and we were forced to sit in a room and listen to a sale pitch from some dude in a cheap suit. I was completely tuned out and, apparently, so were you. Sales Dude interrupted himself to make an observation about us.
Do you know you both tilt your heads exactly the same at the same time?
As soon as he said it I think we both knew exactly what he meant. We were busted. I still do it whenever I lose interest in a thing, or just zone out. My head tilts to the left, I take a deep breath, and my eyes go wide. Grandma used to do it, too. Bless that poor little Sales Dude’s heart, he was able to take the hint and we were free to enjoy the rest of our weekend.
My wife has Resting Bitch Face (RBF), I have You Bore Me (YBM) face. Together we are the life of any party that sucks and needs someone to say so without actually saying so.
When I sat down to type this letter I was planning on telling you about her. I was going to talk about the life that lead me to her and the kind of husband I have been vs. the husband I want to be.
But now all I can think about is the two of us out in public giving each other that look that says, can we go, please? And how much more fun it is when it’s just the two of us on our terrace judging people for having the audacity to jog as we pour coffee and cigarettes into our face holes.
The way, if one of us is on the terrace alone, we’ll come get the other if our trumpet player is out there on a Sunday. The way I am obsessed with the woman in pink; she’s a septuagenerian who drives a green Mini and always wears pink. Stylish AF with a gorgeous shock of white hair, usually pulled back into a ponytail.
Your girl is here, my wife will say.
I’ll tell you about Sam, The Gorgeous Blonde, soon. But I got distracted almost 500 words ago and now I can’t put the right words together.
Also, I really miss The Gorgeous Blonde.
