I can’t send a hello to Fightin’ Mad Mary’s husband anymore. Okay, I never did. But I would. (He’s very handsome!)
I can’t order more than one of anything – well, not in prose anyway.
I can’t talk to Sarah G. about her hobby.
I can’t discuss the major types of research – the kind that is interpretative or the kind that has lots of numbers.
I can’t talk about the figure-head of England and I can’t discuss the makeup line that I loved as a young woman.
I have something I want to know, but I can’t ask.
You don’t know how much you’ll miss it until it’s gone.
I don’t know what to do.
Letter #17 died on my beloved keyboard today.
I think I’m going to uit for the day.