One year, eight months, 16 days
I've been a widow now for one year, eight months, and sixteen days. Twenty months and two weeks, if you call it by the way...
Oh, the Eighties. Everyone looks so young. So idealistic. So high on Aqua Net fumes.
My school had a tradition (a lovely one) that younger classes brought treats to the senior commons the last couple of days before school let out for the holiday. (Being a senior was good.) To start off our senior year’s munchie time, we parodied this song… Feed the Seniors.
The rest of the school was not amused. To this day I still think it was pretty funny.