The party was going great. I mean, just fantastic! Everyone was genuinely enjoying themselves. Some were even dancing to my Dave Matthews mix tape! Nothing can kill our collective buzz.
“Hey Doug, great party!” said a lanky gentleman whom I didn’t recognize. He was carrying a tray of dark chocolate brownie bits. “Say, where can I put these brownies?”
“Oh! Over on the table by the stereo. Thanks!”, I said. He gave me a quick nod, and disappeared amongst a sea of party-goers.

The next day, I was musing over a particularly intense Mary Worth comic in my newspaper when Linda waltzed into the room. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”, I said with perfect deadpan delivery. “I just off the phone with Jess. She and Greg are sick in bed with food poisoning. "

“Yikes. Must have scored some bad shrimp at our party last night.”
“I guess.”, she said, looking out the window at our backyard. Our Pomeranian was napping on the porch. “Oh, thanks for picking up Lulu’s droppings the other day.”

“I didn’t.”

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