
So instead of writing an essay here about a complicated love-life, I'll share with you a little thing that happened earlier. With no reference what so ever to anything at all.
My daughter made cookies today, and on the kitchen counter she left the empty egg carton. Or so I thought. I put it down on the floor to step on it. Make it flat for the paper recycling bin. Well, it wasn't empty. Talking about treading on eggs here! Or did I just lay an egg? And then left with egg on my face?
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