Last week when I walked into the grocery, I was in no hurry. If I get home too early, my wife makes me work.
Each time I enter that store, I scrub my hands with the free sanitizer. After a couple minutes, I am the model of sterility.
An older lady at a small table invites me to try a new recipe. The texture is fine, but it tastes like my morning breath. I figure I can serve ...
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