You taught my brother, sister and myself at one point or another.  Always with the same plaid skirts, brown hosiery, white blouse and unmovable hair.  You are the kindest Catholic nun I’ve ever met. When my sister was in your class, she mad a Santa out of an oatmeal container.

You were, really, the first lady I ever had a crush on.  I’m sure I only came off as weird.  Story of my life. You were a fun teacher, even if you were too embarrassed to read to us from those sex ed booklets, and made us do it instead.

We first met when I was eight and you cut my hair like Dorothy Hamill, at my mothers request.  You cut and permed the hell out of my hair for many years after that.   I adored your southern accent. You reminded me of Blanche on Golden Girls, only less whorey.

Remember when we started that book club years ago, and how it lasted anly about six months before everyone gave up?  Well, I’m so glad we managed to remain friends after that, because you’re one of my favorite people.  Seriously.  You can tell me about your ovaries whenever you want.

It’s strange to have reconnected after all these years, but nice to be able to chat over a friendly game of Scrabble.  I’m happy to see you are happy.  I know I probably should have treated you better when we dated.  I had a lot of growing up to do.