For those of you who are fairly new around these parts, my husband MTM is an architect. This means a girl has to live with a lot of quirks the uninitiated may not understand. For instance, I can’t just go out and buy stuff to decorate our house. The architect has an opinion about every minute detail, things normal people don’t even notice.

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Surely you recall that dreadful dance, Dear Reader? The funky chicken dance had to be devised by someone who was blotto, flapping arms and waddling legs an evidence of too much Everclear. Or Jack Daniels. All I’m saying is that grain alcohol had to be involved. It is a dance that is beneath me. I […]

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