Sign me up.

(This is from last Wednesday...)

I’m sure there are thousands of junior high and high school girls out there who—as their secret shame—have back notebook covers or pink diary pages covered in swirls and loops of fancy signatures—their first name paired with the surname of their current sweetheart.

I’m sure of this because it’s cliché, and giddy junior high and high school girls are generally predictable in their adherence to such clichés.

I do not know of this from my own experience.

I’ve never been That Girl.

But today—for just a split second—I sort of wished I was.

Kimmie wrote and, in her excitement about Eric and I tying the knot this weekend, asked all sorts of practical questions—she knows my MO all too well—including if I’d ordered new checks or practiced my signature.

My signature?

This hadn’t occurred to me before.

My signature?

So I took it upon myself to practice at lunch today.

It did not go well.

I don’t write in cursive. And, within that wretched writing style, I particularly dislike a’s, r’s and s’s. Which compose most of E’s last name.

Whimper.