That sometime came quicker than I thought it would when, while dressing for bed in my closet, I saw my yearbooks on a shelf and decided to go ahead and give them a looksie.
What I found was that:
1) the only person in my yearbook with the same last name as my new acquaintance was a guy that I used to exchange googly eyed glances with during world history (no relation), and
No wonder my yearbooks never come down off of that shelf.
The wood stove is a poppin’ and a cracklin’ in the next room. How fun do you think it would be to watch those yearbooks burn? I’m thinking pretty dang fun indeed.