I was in second grade, and having a Pac-Man phase. It wasn't like I played video games, I just happened to like the smooth lines and simple iconography of the game, and I liked drawing mazes anyway, so I would churn out three or four homage-collages of Pac Man's buttery-yellow, round self a week. Sometimes, I'd add lipstick and a hair (?) clip--Mrs. Pac-Man. I would put the ghosts in the corners for border decorations.
Second-grade boys are allowed their weird little obsessions.
At the time, my parents owned an art gallery and picture-framing studio. My father would go on to be, among a great many other things, recognized by the art community as the greatest picture-framer in Austin. Framing, matting, mounting, can be its own art form.
After school, I brought yet another picture of Pac Man, on bright glossy paper, to my parents' gallery. In the midst of fine artwork and perhaps finer picture-framing, my uncle, my usually stoned uncle, quite a good picture-framer in his own right, decided to mount my artwork on the wall of the gallery.
So, he licked the back of the picture and pressed it to the wall. It stayed there for two months before someone took it down out of irritation.
Anyway, back to licking envelopes.