If I could meet,  hug and excessively thank and embarrass an inventor, it would be Mr. Air Conditioning.  Or Mr. Ice Machine.  Oh and must not forget Mr. Automobile Tooshie Cooler.

I hope these inventors have an award on their mantle.  They have saved my summer life.

One invention saves me summer and winter.  Saves me any sinking day.  Saves me from forgetting.  Saves me for longing.  I owe one inventor vaults of gratitude.  Would someone hand Mr. Voicemail a Nobel Prize?  Could we hold a parade down Main Street?  Down all the main streets?

Because on my phone’s voicemail storage are recordings of Bill’s voice.  He tells me again that he loves me, “Baby,” and he’ll see me tonight.  He loves you, Kath.  And if you wonder, just play it again.  Press play.  Today, tonight, next week, when you’re crying, when you’re not.  Summer.  Winter.  Pull up voicemail and press play.

I’ve always loved his voice.  I always loved getting his messages.  Who knew the voicemail invention would save me.  Anytime.

Thank you Mr. Voicemail.  I mean thank you thank you thank you!  Because of you I can hear Bill’s voice.  He told me he loves me today.