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Zit Popper

Over the years I have learned that the best place to bring up your honey do list is in bed. I had just broken the news to Todd that we need to repaint the entire house this year when he interrupted with, “Why is there a zit popper stuck to your leg?”

“What?” I said. He helpfully repeated the exact same sentence. Still thoroughly confused, I could find nothing.

“Here,” he said, plucking something from my leg and then placing a metal black head removal tool on my forehead.

“Oh, that must have rolled out of my nail kit,” I said, putting it back in the night table drawer.

But when I think about it, we never did return to the conversation about painting the house. Nicely played, Todd. Nicely played.


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