I couldn't possibly write another bitchy email to Ed bemoaning the fact that he has all the Christmas trappings, ornaments and candles from 15 years of marriage, while I have an assorted, tangled group of randomly blinking lights and no lids to pans. Not tonight, no, but tomorrow looks pretty good.
(I've started hearing little French phrases in my head at odd times, which is weird because I don't even speak French).
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