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I didn’t realize it until today, but it seems that I have been walking around looking like a victim of abuse [if I had noticed it earlier, I would have worn something to cover it up]. It doesn’t look like much in the picture, but it’s hilariously obvious in real life. That bruise is from trying to lift a heavy suitcase into an airplane’s overhead compartment – and failing. Suitcase fell down on me.

I keep explaining: no, I didn’t get beaten up. But if you don’t hear from me in a few days, that means I’ve been hauled over to the police department or Social Services or wherever it is that they send battered females to. Haha.

The awesome design on the shirt, called “The Horror in Romantic Comedies”:

News on Zoey the cat, from the housemate. Apparently she’s traumatized from switching owners (from original owner to housemate, and then back to original owner). Losing weight and treating the entire house as her litter box. Vet has prescribed Prozac. Perhaps it’s contagious – housemate was (and still is) on Prozac. Housemate is losing weight, too. Fortunately, not treating the entire house as litter box.

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