Friends mean well at the holidays. They select a gift they believe that I, in my uncomplaining bachelor-girl existence, really must have. One year it was a microwave. I don’t eat popcorn, TV dinners or drink hot liquids. My tiny kitchen had no counter space for it. A refund was in order.
The next year it was a down comforter, a thoughtful gift for a dweller in a cold canyon setting. But the goose feathers poked me mercilessly and made me itch and sneeze. Another refund.
So this year...
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