I'm not really sure why, without fail, my boiler decides to turn off every Sunday night, just as I am about to take a shower before bed, and I have to spend 20 minutes pretending to be Handy Andy. Actually, I am sure why.
I mean, c'mon, Pope B, enough is enough. I refuse to apologize for dipping out while you were in town, there's no need to continue this attempt to re-baptize me in the cold, cold waters of life. Cut a gurl some slack.
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