A laugh on Fat Tuesday

First, I have to share a little background. Chuck and I leave each other notes all the time. Sometimes they are ¬†sweet, and sometimes they’re informative. Sometimes they’re both. There’ve been apology notes, I love you notes, and please drop off my dry cleaning notes. Some notes are so hilarious that we’ve kept them for more than a decade, like the two-sided note with my apology on one side and his response on the other, saying the dog pooped in the laundry room and Chuck covered it up with a sock. Yes, we only keep the special ones.

Since we are often passing ships in the night, depending on the week, leaving notes can be our best form of communication. Such was the case several nights ago. Usually, my notes make sense and are grammatically correct. At the very least, words are spelled correctly. But on Ambien at three in the morning, nothing is guaranteed.

Ambien noteUm, okay.

In my defense, I spent the previous two nights feeling like someone was in the house. I even flipped on the bedroom light a few times to make sure we were alone. Apparently, when I got up to let out the dog, the shadows in the dark house bothered me.

Of course, per , I remember none of it.

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