Kyle recently came back from a work trip to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“Great!” He said – and then, forlornly, “But I couldn’t find any postcards.”
Every single time Kyle travels, he sends a postcard. By “a postcard,” I mean upwards of a dozen of them. And by “travels,” I mean if his head hits a pillow that is not his own, it counts as a trip – including once in Grand Forks when we booked a hotel room because we were having some work done at the house.