W. Ho.

So in the stultifying world of my personal coincidences, I'd like to share this latest with the hopes that (for once) you, too, will be utterly amazed and mesmerized by the confluence of events I am about to describe.*

A love(ish) letter a lovely man wrote me 10 years ago will be published in a book about love letters. This came about after an acquaintance told me she was working for the editor who was putting it together. The editor of said book and I discussed by phone the origins of said letter today, and when I told him what town in the world it originated from, the town in which I spent my junior year in college abroad…he sort of freaked and said he spent a year there, too. Ten years earlier. Fine, odd coincidence, you say. But I said, "Whoa."

"Whoa," I said.
"Whoa," he said.

"But what college did you go to in the U.S.?" I asked him.
"Wackadoodle University," he said.**
"Shit, me, too," I said.***

"Whoa," he said.
"Whoa," I said.

He lives in an apartment three blocks from me (yeah, sort of "whoa"****), which I dutifully walked to in order to deposit said love(ish) letter into his hands. We stood in his entryway and sort of started at each other like, "Whoa."*****

_________
*MotN: All I hear is "Wah wah wah wah…" like the teacher on Charlie Brown, okay?
**Wackadoodle=Not the Real Name of My University, Although Possibly a Better Name for It
***There were only about 2,500 students at this school.
****Nine out of 10 editors/writers in America live in my neighborhood.
*****And then the seas parted and the sky rained tiny rabbit-faced fishes and I then got on the subway and went to work.