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         It was the second Tuesday morning of the month and class was in session. I knew that my book order was arriving today and was pretty excited about it.  Now, it was just a matter of when.  Usually, the books arrived either late morning, or just after lunch.  My suspicion is that they probably arrived the day before, and the teacher actually hid it until there was a break in the day: But, what did I know anyways?  I had actually forgotten what my entire order was, but I knew that among the books, my subscription to Dynamite magazine was arriving.  And, I grew anxious thinking about digging into that.
     Later that day, after lunch, the teacher lined us all up single file in front of the class.  She was going to start passing out our books.  Apparently, the book orders arrived during lunch this time.  Students, one by one, returned back to their desks, after receiving their books, all full of glee.  They all looked so happy.  My excitement grew additively noticing each of them.  It was my turn.  The teacher reached into the huge bag, shuffled her hands around to what seemed like an eternity, and finally pulled them out holding my order.  She motioned to me and I extended my arms.  Looking at the stack of books in my hands, I noticed the Dynamite magazine at the bottom.  It was wrapped in plastic.  I paced back to my desk, placed down the stack, and grabbed at the bottom of the pile to retrieve the plastic wrapped magazine.  Holding up the magazine, I noticed John Travolta was on the front cover.  He was smiling and wore a denim jacket.  I did not know whether this was a good thing or not.  The words on the cover referred to him as Vinnie Barbarino of the hit sit-com “Welcome Back Kotter.”  And, it quickly registered in my mind that he was the ultimate woman seducer.   I was curious to start reading it, but this had to wait until I went home.  One of the rules was that we could not read our books from the orders until after school.  There was too much work to be done in class until then.
     Later that evening, while reading the magazine, I found an address to write to the infamous John Travolta buried within the magazine.  Growing kind of skeptical, I wanted to write to the address just out of curiousity.  After all, Vinnie Barbarino was Mr. Cool.  He gets all the women.  It would be nice if a little of that rubbed off on me.  Or, maybe he could teach me how it is done.  Deciding to give it a shot, I reached in my desk and found some blank stationary and a pencil.  Expertly crafting a letter within hours, I placed it within an envelope, addressed it, licked a stamp, and stuck it to the upper right corner of the finished product.  Still skeptical, I did not mail it. Acknowledging my quest to be cool, I was not sure if I was ready to stoop to the endless bowels of writing to Vinnie Barbarino yet.  Figuring when it got bad enough, this letter would be mailed as a last resort.  I placed the envelope in my top desk drawer and forgot about it for the night.
     A few weeks had passed, and a package came in the mail for me.  I was not expecting anything.  I lifted the package, shook it, and read the return address.  It was from the John Travolta Fan Club.  Being quite baffled, I could not understand this.  I have now received the how-to-be-cool care package, was afraid to open it, and just figured someone up there just likes me.  Thinking about it some more, I sprinted over to my desk, opened up the upper desk drawer, and peered inside.  There were assorted papers scattered throughout the drawer in no particular order.  Rifling through the assortment with my two hands, I could not find the letter.  But, I never mailed it.

Moral of the story – This is concrete evidence that my mom used to look through my stuff.

 
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