Our Big Cadillac.

Most of the email that I get lately is spam. I think that I ended up on some list that got sold recently.

I have the email alert on my phone set to vibrate, so there’s a little party in my pants pocket every time that I get an email and I get so excited to see what new email treasure I have received from the world. Lately though, it always turns out to be something about how I have won a laptop or how I might have unclaimed government money due to me or how I can make $50k a year working part-time from home.

So when I feel that tickle in my pocket and reach on in there, I am invariably disappointed, because part of my brain always thinks that you have finally decided to write me and tell me that you want to run off together. How we should steal a convertible Cadillac and drive across this big country of ours and fall in love while the sun sets over the great plains. How we should eat at roadside diners and always only order whatever that day’s special is. How we will sleep curled up together in the big leather backseat of our big, stolen American automobile. How you will whisper in my ear that this is your best moment in all of your life.

But sadly, you never send me that email. So I am always disappointed.


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