I was having "one of those days" last October. You know, one of those self-fulfilling prophecy-type days your mother warned you about when you were twelve, and again when you were thirty? The sky was ashen, the roads slick with the endless, penetrating drizzle of fall in the Pacific Northwest. I was several hours behind schedule, eying the front door of a house I knew contained a bathroom in desperate need of cleaning. Lucky me, I sulked, my hand poised to open the door.
Then the phone rang.
I sighed, then pasted an I-love-my-job smile on my face. "Studio 6 - this is Laurie!" I gushed, expecting a bride-to-be on the other end.
"Is this...Laurie Isop?" queried the lovely voice on the other end. I rolled my eyes. Darn solicitors, I thought.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
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