A few weeks ago, Seconda met a little boy she really like in summer camp.
"I'm going to send a letter to Milo," she announced. She drew a picture of a cat fighting with dog -- her trademark theme -- and she wrote a short message with inventive spelling.
"Do you know his address, honey?" I asked.
"Yes," she confirmed, "He lives on Snorkel Horn Street."
"OK," I replied, patronizing her. I'd go along with the game, "Do you know what number on Snorkel Horn?"
"No," she frowned, "He didn't tell me that."
"Hmmm," I said, "Then it may be hard to send the letter. Maybe you can ask him tomorrow."
The next day, she forgot all about the letter and so that was that.
Then, a few days ago, we were in Brooklyn Heights going to the movies. Primo was reading the street signs as we passed them, and he announced that we were approaching, "Schermerhorn Street."
"That's where Milo lives!' Seconda shouted.
"Snorkel Horn Avenue! That's where Milo lives."
I love it when these little mysteries are cleared up.
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