In less than a month, my little sister, Stevie, will become a married woman. By the way, don’t you dare call her Stevie, she’s liable to tear your throat out, unless you’re an immediate family member, who she’s completely given up on the “Stephanie Movement” with. In fact, I think I’m the only one who consistently calls her that, and, well, I always will. When we’re shriveled old grannies, I’ll still be chanting, “Stevie’s a Fartknocker!” and making faces at {Read More}
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