the gazette had a little article this morning about a website composed of the letters of a young man in world war one and i was just looking at them. his name was harry. last night at work was more ecxiting than thursday. an attractive young man comes in and i am so happy he speaks english (whenever there is a cute french guy i get all embarassed because i can hardly converse en francais.), anyways he asks if we can deliver and i answered yes, of course. he asks if he can include a card, i answered, yes, you can choose one from the rack and write it while i organise the order. and he says "would you be able to write it? i messed up my hand." and he pulled out his right hand from his pocket briefly. he wanted me to write "i'm so, so, sorry." i told him sure, he can pick out a blank card with just an image of a lily on it, but he instead chose a "get well soon" card. so i wrote the message, signed his name, cashed him out and he left. it made me really sad. when my dad picked me up after closing, he had the mail with him and my marc jacobs shirt came. i was so happy. we passed by my mailbox on the way home, and saw francesco and sean standing there. my dad waved, thinking it was our neighbour johnny. i laughed and waved at them too. i was like, 'dad why are you waving at them?' he just said 'oh that wasnt johnny? i wonder why theyre at our mailbox.' i laughed and said 'probably waiting for the mailman' (whos got their coke), but i stoppped myself cause i dont think my dad would find that funny.