Good grief. Eleventh graders are ridiculous.
We’ve begun packing.
He’s already laughing. I’m glad he’s amused. (No, really, I am.)
So we read a few of them together, and I will say this: my inner sixteen-year-old found it extremely satisfying to read those letters with my wonderful, long waited for, real-life husband. Very satisfying indeed. So keep writing your ridiculous letters, eleventh grade girls. It’ll be worth it in ten years when you read them while cuddled in bed with the one you’ve been waiting for.
(Just know that neither of you will take the contents of those letters at all seriously. Because, let’s face it: they’re pretty ridiculous.)