On Friday night, our friends Miss C and her fiance J came over for supper. While J was a good sport who endorsed a forced march of activities supervised by the young man of the house, Miss C and I talked and reviewed plans for her upcoming wedding.
Later in the evening, we all looked at the return postcards for that wedding. Miss C was fretting that the return address font was too small. She was working up a full-blown anxiety attack, when JT, no stranger to worrying women, intervened to help.
JT (looking at the postcard): It's fine. I can see all the letters and if I could read, I'd be able to read the words.