Does my husband look at me every day and wonder if I have 100 pairs of black yoga pants or has he just given up on me and accepted that his beloved may actually be wearing the same pants, day in and day out?
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With a veritable war going on between teachers and the provincial government, I expected school to be a very charged environment; consumed by hushed discussions and choking on uncertainty like a toxic smell from a dirty microwave.
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I want to both thank him, and kick him in his frying pan.
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I’m a Kit-Kat, not a gourmet sticky toffee pudding.
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