And now a story about Sarah

We have a fireplace. Things are put by the fireplace to be burned. There is a small pile of newspapers and other such junk mail there.

The other day, Sarah was madly fussing around because she couldn’t find an article that had appeared in the local newspaper. She berated me because it turned out that I had burned the newspaper, after it had been put – by her – in the by-the-fireplace-to-be-burned pile.

She maintains that it was a safe and logical place to keep it, because – and, again, I am not making this up – “you don’t use that pile when you make fires. I knew it was there and I wouldn’t have burned it.”

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