What happened next, however, has been reconstructed, CSI forensic-style, from physical and documentary evidence. Apparently, I got home. Apparently, I sent some emails, including some to my boss. Apparently, I took a nap upstairs in my shoes, bra, and jeans, and apparently, I also ANSWERED THE FRONT DOOR LIKE THAT when a poor, unsuspecting florist came and delivered flowers. I have no recollection of any of these events. And yet, that is probably for the best.

I’m loving Miss Doxie right about now. And so should you.

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