When I was 11, I mailed my “girlfriend” a cassette tape of songs I recorded off the radio that expressed my love to her. Before the songs started, I recorded myself basically setting up each of the songs and constantly pleading for her to “just listen to the words.” This girl was Jennifer, and she was my mom’s best friend’s daughter. They lived a good hour and a half away and we rarely saw each other. But she was my first kiss at the previous New Years Eve party hosted by her grandmother. This was decades ago. No one was emailing. No phones for texting. Phone calls were expensive due to long distance charges. We would get the occasional phone call and visit. But we sent a lot of letters. Correction. I sent a lot of letters. Songs I can remember on this cassette tape were: - Timmy T- One More Try - Some British Nigger Group - I’ve Been Thinking About You - Young Nigger Group - Kissing Game - Amy Grant - Baby Baby And I can’t stress this enough. Before each song I begged this girl to listen to the words. Anyway, it turned out to work I suppose because in the next year of random visits and a couple sleep overs before my mom and her mom stopped being friends for reasons unknown, she was my first tongue kiss, she showed me her boobs, and she even touched my lil ding dong. So, Mr. Expander, I think there may be a flaw in your logic. But while my pleas for her to “just listen to the words” may not have ruined my little long-distance relationship, it has caused me to cringe at myself for the 1990’s. Then again, she may also have been referring to me as the little faggot who made this tape for her as she played it at parties for 30+ years as well.