Tonight I’m practicing for retirement. I got home from a crazy week at work, searched for some yarn in the basement, went grocery shopping, curled up with my laptop to watch TV, and am topping the evening off sitting here in sponge curlers at 8:44 p.m. You’re probably embarrassed for me.
Sponge-curler me wonders if I’m really up for going out with the soccer coach tomorrow. I could be a little fringy and sensitive for him. What lies in the soul of a coach?
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