The Minutes of Our Last Meeting | Chillicothe Father of the Year
I can’t tell you about it in person, because I’m a telemarketer. Bound by honor to use the phone.
I can’t tell you about it in person, because I’m a telemarketer. Bound by honor to use the phone.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?