Let Inga Tell You

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In honor of the 10th anniversary of “Let Inga Tell You,” and having run out of pretty much anything else to say (not that this will stop me from writing the column), I have been mining my memories of Pleasantville High School Class of ’65 and our subsequent reunions in my last two columns. Try to contain your excitement. In order to get people to read past the first paragraph, I’ve been intentionally inserting the name of my Pulitzer-prize-winning classmate, Dave Barry.
LET INGA TELL YOU: Well, after last week’s column, I haven’t heard from my high school classmate Dave Barry’s lawyer asking me to cease and desist writing about him, so I’m going to continue taking advantage of our extremely distant association to reminisce about the Pleasantville High School Class of 1965’s 40th and 50th reunions.
LET INGA TELL YOU: Astonishingly, I am approaching the 10th anniversary of writing Let Inga Tell You, a gig I thought might last three months.
LET INGA TELL YOU: While I feel that my engineer husband, Olof, and I are hugely compatible, the Venn diagram of our marriage often doesn’t have a lot of overlapping travel circles.
LET INGA TELL YOU: Last week, I wrote about helping my neighbors rescue a young cat that had planted itself outside their sliding glass doors and meowed piteously for two days.
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LET INGA TELL YOU: For the 12 years I was a divorced working parent, we lived paycheck to paycheck.
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