About ten years ago, I got a letter in the mail when I was living in Australia (the first time). I opened it and all it said was, “I’m so sorry I missed you. – David.”

That was it. No other evidence of who it was, except that the return address on the envelope was from Paris.

So a man, named David, was in Paris pining for me and he had tracked me down in Australia to tell me. But he was locked in a tower with no wi-fi or electricity, so he could only scratch out this letter to me, just to make sure that I knew.

Later I told this story to Rachel and she informed me that it was she who had sent the letter and that the letter was from David Sedaris, whom she had met at one of his book readings. I actually think I like the real version better than the imagined. I’m so sorry I missed you, too, David.

I finally met David Sedaris the other night in London…

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David would. Except he’s a self-confessed luddite who can’t type.