Marit picked me up at the Phoenix airport before I could embarrass myself by taking a cellphone photo of the straggly palm trees next to the highway. Instead, she whisked me away to our hotel - or at least that was the plan. Despite Marit's reservations and phone confirmation, the hotel had no record of her reservations when we arrived! Marit
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yeah, it was definitely Fat Bastard. that wine is good times.
sorry about driving you crazy on the perfume hunt. we DID find it, finally. remember?
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I want to hear more about the cleavage following you out to the parking lot...
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That sounds like a marvelous trip.
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