After a month of making masks for first responders, friends and neighbors, I have tried pretty much every pattern and technique on the internet and have come up with my own pattern that addresses the issue that most of the other patterns didn’t: I have a nose.
Perhaps there is a medical benefit to squashing your nose so hard that moist-talkers’ (thanks, Justin Trudeau) spittle can’t sneak into your nostrils. But as we move from simply using masks to pop into the store for a couple minutes to wearing them for extended periods to protect our communities, comfort is a virtue.
In order to benefit from the nasal glory that is my mask pattern, I do ask a favor. Actually, more than a favor. A pledge.
I, __________________________ do solemnly swear to wear my mask in a safe manner, including, but not limited to: Leaving it on my face instead of pulling it down to my chin whenever someone asks me to repeat something I said, using the ear straps to adjust the mask instead of sticking my germy fingers onto/into the mask, thereby defeating the entire purpose of a mask. I will wash my mask the same way that I wash other items made of fabric, and not spray it with disinfectants and other harsh chemicals that can damage my skin and lungs.
I will proactively shut down lies and/or unfounded conspiracy theories about Covid 19 being a hoax on the internet, or in person, even when they are shared by a friend or relative and it will make me feel uncomfortable to do so. There are doctors, nurses, cleaning staff, and essential workers who barely get paid minimum wage to make my life comfortable who are risking their lives for my right to enjoy those comforts, and to, you know – STAY ALIVE. My momentary discomfort is the least I can do to repay them. (Also, I should probably do some deep soul searching about why I care about making someone, whose misinformation could literally kill people, upset with me.)
I will use my exposed eyes and eyebrows to give major stink-eye to those who refuse to wear masks or give adequate social distance in public places, and I will use my mask-covered mouth to speak up for essential workers who are verbally or physically attacked for asking them to do so.
And most importantly, in November (and always) I will vote for candidates who believe in science, trust medical experts, and who value the lives of their constituents even after they receive their vote.
And now, the mask. (Download the PDF version through the link vs trying to download the actual image shown.)
As the mothers of newborns we do some pretty strange things to keep our babies healthy & comfortable:
Would you use your teeth to trim your baby’s fingernails? Anything for my baby!
Would you squirt your breast milk into your baby’s eye at the first sign of conjunctivitis? You’d be crazy not to!
Would you suck snot out of your baby’s nose with a plastic hose? Of cour…..Wait a minute…..you want me to do what?
My name is Susanne, and I sucked my baby’s snot…..and you should too!
Just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about – This is a Nose Frida – The Snot Sucker, and the name says it all.
First, I must say that this is not a paid endorsement. Nose Frida did not ask me to do this post, in fact, there’s a good chance they may ask me to take it down. I was inspired to write a post after a friendly debate over at the Mom Babble Facebook page about whether or not we would ever use a snot sucker.
I am 100% pro-suck. (That came out wrong…)
With my first baby, whenever she would have a stuffy nose, I pretty much just had to let her suffer through it. Sure, I tried using one of those bulb nose sucking thingies ONCE and I’m pretty sure I blew up her sinus cavity like a balloon by forgetting to remove the bulb between sucks. In the end, I achieved nothing except for pissing her off and starting some type of science project inside the bulb. Seriously, have you ever cut open a squeezie bath toy? It’s like nuclear waste in there and that’s just from water. I dare you to cut open a bulb aspirator – I’m guessing it will look like all of those moldy applesauce pouch warning videos….and it’s living in your closet!
With my second baby, I became wiser…and more experimental. I was
complaining to my dear friend, Virginie one day about my poor miserable
baby who was so stuffy that I could hear him snoring across the room
(somewhere around here I have some very entertaining video documenting
this.) She asked if I wanted to borrow her Nose Frida and I assumed it
was just a fancy version of the bulb and politely declined since the
only thing grosser than using your bulb is using someone else’s.
She came back over with what appeared to be either a modern turkey baster or a catheter. In either case, I had no intention of putting it near my baby’s nose. She assured me that once you learn how to use it, it’s the best thing in the world and that it’s what French hospitals send home with all new moms & babies. Hmmm…
I assembled the snot sucker and hesitantly put the suckee end near my son’s nostril. Thanks to his squirminess and my poor aim, I ended up just sucking it to the side of his nose (Note to self: Test out Nose Frida for pore extraction later.) Eventually, with her holding his head and me doing the sucking, we managed to make contact for a microsecond, just enough to get the tiniest bit of nose goo out.
Oh crap, well that was hardly worth it….
But wait! It was worth it!
He was breathing clearly, no more snorting…all from this miniscule drop of mucus? Here I had pictured us filling up at least half of the receptacle area with his nasty sinus grossness. Fortunately, when it comes to tiny baby noses, I guess it doesn’t take much snot removal to result in big relief.
I will admit that the first several times we used it, it wasn’t pretty. It may have been payback for how my mom used to have to take me to the ER to have five doctors hold me down any time she needed to give me medicine. Or, it may have just been that even babies are born with a natural instinct to resist people shoving plastic tubes up to their nostrils (please note it goes against the nostril, not IN the nostril and there’s no risk of jamming anything into your kid’s brain.)
Our preferred method was definitely a two-person job. We would put him in the bouncy seat so he was at a nice angle and had support behind his head. My husband would distract him and hold his head secure and I would do my best to make a silly game out of the process.
“Look at the pretty blue tube – Oooop it booped you on the cheek! Hee
Hee! It booped you on the nose! Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp! All done – –
After time he came to associate the long blue tube with serious relief and it finally became a one-person/one cooperative baby job. Eventually he would even baby-sign for me to do it more after it was done just because it felt so funny and made him laugh.
A couple years ago we finally got to the point when he was old enough to go grab the Nose Frida from the cabinet and say “suck my nose!” It was about then that we broke the news to him that he was getting old enough that it was time to start blowing his own nose. Boooo!
I listed our used Nose Frida on our neighborhood Facebook Garage Sale list and I kid you not, within minutes I had a half dozen responses. We were sad to see it go but glad to know it’s giving relief and entertainment to one of our little neighbors now.
Since I’m sure there are some of you out there that are still not convinced, here’s my little FAQ guide & I’m happy to answer any questions about my experiences.
Do you get any boogers/snot in your mouth? No – there are a few degrees of separation: You have the little collection unit, the long tube and the little foam filter thingee in the collection unit.
Are you sucking up a bunch of germs? I don’t know – The little foam filter is supposed to help with this but I’m guessing microscopic germs can sneak through there. You know what else your kids germs sneak through? Just about everything else of theirs that you touched that day. Face it, you’re already getting whatever your kid has. You might as well give him a little relief in the meantime.
What if the receptacal fills up and then it starts filling up the tube and then……? I never, even in our snottiest episodes, ever filled up the receptacle more than about ½”….(That’s not half-way, I mean one half of one inch.)
What if I suck too hard? You won’t. No matter how hard you suck on it the pressure on the baby’s side is very gentle. In fact, I wish it would have been stronger a few times, but it always seems to get the job done.
Can you use it on yourself? I have a friend that swears that she does for her tough sinus issues. I can neither confirm nor deny that this is true and I have never tried it on myself.
What do I do with all the snot? If you’ve got a big job, bring a washcloth or something with you and ‘blow’ your collection into the washcloth in between sucks. When you’re all done, you just take the cap off and wash it. Boogers gone – No science experiment bulb to serve as a culture receptacle in your medicine cabinet.
If you have time to spare, I highly recommend watching some of the
user supplied Nose Frida videos on YouTube – They are highly
entertaining and make me super sad I never thought to video tape any of
our snot sucking experiences.
There are also tons of reviews at Amazon that support my Pro-Snot-Sucking stance. (Note, this is an affiliate link, so if you purchase a Nose Frida through this link I get a cut of the action but that in no way influences my snot sucking opinion.)
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Even kids who haven’t willingly opened a book the entire school year completely lose their minds over Book Fair.
And who can blame them? Especially when the decorating committee transforms their simple library into some magical land, like a medieval castle, or an undersea experience, complete with a bubble machine at the entrance.
Even if you’ve missed the Book Fair reminder notes in your kid’s folder or all the giant red banners around campus, it’s hard to miss the kids wandering around after school dressed as human billboards ringing bells and spreading the news about the Book Fair.
My daughter’s in the 5th grade now (and one of the human billboards,) so I’ve been to my share of Book Fairs. Heck, I’ve even been known to volunteer to work the Book Fair a time or two and I’ve got to admit, I still get caught up in the festivities.
Although the faces change from year to year, the general School Book Fair population remains the same. Here are the Top 10 types of people you’re likely to meet during elementary school Book Fair Week.
The “This Ain’t My First Book Fair” Parent – This parent immediately gets into the mile-long checkout line and has their child round up their stack of pre-approved books and arrive back in line at the precise moment that it is time to check out.
The “We’ll Go to the Book Fair Tomorrow” Parent – This parent has absolutely no intention of crossing the threshold into the Book Fair but has run out of stalling tactics. She will eventually be talked into giving her child money to shop at the Book Fair solo the next day.
The “Make it Rain” Kid – This kid’s parents sent them to school with a $20 bill and have way too much faith in their child. They promptly select a $4.99 book and spends the rest of their money treating all of their friends to chocolate-scented pencils and sport-ball shaped erasers from the impulse-buy section.
The “How Much Does This Cost?” Kid – This kid’s parents sent her to school with $5 and no concept of “things that cost $5” or “sales tax.” She will use her entire Book Fair time walking up to the check out with giant stacks of Lego Star Wars Encyclopedias and other $30 items asking, “does this cost $5?” She will finally leave after the check-out volunteer personally pays for her sales tax on her $4.99 book.
The “Book Fair Volunteers” – After approximately 2 minutes of system training, these volunteers have to check out a thousand kids who are already late for class while simultaneously attempting to assist several “How Much Does This Cost” Kids and politely suggest to all the new “Make It Rain” pencil recipients that perhaps they shouldn’t accept such gifts. You should hug them or offer to buy them a drink.
The “We Can Get This Cheaper at Amazon.com” Parent – This parent slowly chips away every bit of her child’s Book Fair excitement by continually informing them how much cheaper they could get the books at Amazon.com (and then forgets to ever order said books.)
The “This is a Book Fair, Not a Poster Fair” Parent – This parent has to continually redirect their child away from the posters of cute kittens and puppies as well as any other impulse items. There is a good chance that whatever book their child finally chooses will come with its own necklace.
The “Book Fair Lunch” Parents – These parents somehow got suckered into not only coming to the Book Fair but also bringing lunch for their kids to eat in the Book Fair themed dining area. They spend most of the Book Fair trying not to drip their leftover Wendy’s Frosty on the merchandise while repeatedly asking their child, “what time are you supposed to go back to class?” These parents are easily talked into impulse items so they don’t look lame next to the “Make It Rain” kid in line next to them.
The “After Hours” Parents – The “After Hours” crowd is much better dressed than the lunch crowd and also significantly less open to impulse buys. You can just tell by the look in their eyes how ‘thrilled’ they are for the “after hours” night when the Book Fair stays open late so that they too can experience the magic of Book Fair firsthand.
The “You Know They Sell Books Other Places, Right?” Parents – These parents support a “we’ll take one of each” approach to the Book Fair and require a stroller or their own personal hold pile at the check out. Perhaps it’s out of an “it supports the school!” mentality, or perhaps they used to be the “Make it Rain” kids when they were little.
Hi. I’m Susanne. And I’m done being embarrassed that I take an antidepressant for an anxiety disorder.
I mean, seriously, I have so many other things that I should be embarrassed about, like that time in the fourth grade when I didn’t have an act for the talent show so I just walked back and forth on the stage, doing random, jerky, Rockettes-style kicks to the J. Geil’s Band song, “Centerfold.”
That was embarrassing.
But taking charge of your health is just smart. We tell our kids all the time that they should be proud of being smart.
Therefore, I should be PROUD to be taking an antidepressant.
Yay Me! I’m on Zoloft because I’m smart!
But, I wasn’t always this smart.
In August 2007, I found myself being admitted to the emergency room at a hospital near my mom’s house in Idaho. I would soon discover that I was hours from dying due to the fact my appendix had ‘exploded’ four days, (not hours, DAYS) earlier and previous doctor visits had misdiagnosed my symptoms as a stomach bug.
I had a fever of 106 and was starting to hallucinate, was vomiting blood and could no longer even sit up in the wheelchair they had put me in, but my number one concern was that the nurse asked me which medications I was on in front of my mom.
I was literally dying, but was more worried that my mom would know that I was on an anti-depressant for postpartum anxiety than about finishing up my admissions paperwork so the doctors could help me not die. This made no sense.
This was not smart.
I felt no shame telling the nice nurse that I was taking a thyroid
supplement because my body doesn’t make enough of whatever a thyroid is
supposed to make, so why should I be ashamed of a medicine that helps
supplement whatever my brain’s not making?
It’s probably because if I didn’t take my thyroid medication, I would just get sleepy, but if I didn’t take my Zoloft, I couldn’t drive over a bridge without feeling like I was going blind and that my body was going to evaporate, resulting in a fiery crash.
Feeling sleepy is something other people can relate to.
The bridge-blindness-body-evaporating thing sounds a little crazy.
Crazy doesn’t feel smart, it feels embarrassing, and therefore the
medicine I was taking for it felt embarrassing by association.
Crazy or not, the medicine gave me the extra boost I needed to work on immersion and vestibular therapy so I could regain my confidence in driving and stop my spiral of anxiety. I’ve been safely driving over bridges ever since. (Or maybe it’s just that we moved from Seattle to Austin and there really aren’t any bridges here?)
I stopped taking Zoloft a year later, when we started trying to get pregnant with our son, and never needed it again.
Until a couple years ago.
In 2016, my anxiety came back, practically overnight, with a vengeance. And this time bridges weren’t the problem. At first it was mainly high-ceilinged, echoey buildings like restaurants and grocery stores, or places with a lot of commotion, like school pick up. So, pretty much every place a stay at home mom has to go every day, forever. Perfect.
Soon things progressed to the point where I was never free of my
symptoms, even at home. Even worse, my symptoms flared the most whenever
I was watching TV.
That’s when sh*t got real. Nothing comes between me and my TV.
Except of course, full-on, “Oh my god, I’m dying” panic attacks.
It’s hard to explain what a panic attack is like to someone who has never had one, (or even to someone who has had one, since I’m sure they’re all different.) Mine feel like that falling sensation that sometimes jerks you awake at night, combined with that uncertainty you get when you wake up on vacation and your brain’s all foggy can’t quite figure out where you’re at. Just for fun, add in that all-over sensory overload buzz you get right after you have a near miss when some jerk almost side-swipes you while driving 65mph on the freeway.
It’s that. Times a hundred. And it lasts for about twenty excruciating minutes.
When my mind and body weren’t busy assaulting me with full-blown panic attacks, my days were filled with exhaustion, vertigo, and the suffocating feeling of breathlessness, which I overcompensated for with ‘relaxing deep breaths’, which essentially just led to hyperventilation.
Speaking of which, let me digress for a moment:
For anyone who tells you to meditate or exercise your way out of anxiety attacks, those are all lovely concepts and things that can help in general with anxiety, but here was MY reality.
I could not exercise. I felt like I was constantly sleepwalking, underwater wearing a backpack full of my kids’ Pokemon collection binders. Plus, just the thought of going outside and opening myself up to the possibility of having a huge panic attack on the way to my kids’ school brought on more anxiety.
I could not meditate. I tried, and closing my eyes aggravated my vertigo, and trying to concentrate on my breathing made me worry about if I was breathing right, or breathing too much, or breathing too little, or OH MY GOD! WHAT IF MY BODY JUST FORGETS TO KEEP BREATHING ONE DAY!!!
Actually, I take that back, I did use kind of a meditation of sorts by forcing myself to mentally recount the most basic facts about my life in order to ground myself in reality and offset the “disappearing” feeling during panic attacks:
“My name is Susanne. I am married to Chris. We live in Austin. We have two kids. I have a daughter. She is 10. That cat’s name is Reuger. His brother is Duncan. He’s probably off pooping on a couch somewhere. I bought that couch at Ikea. I bought this dresser in Seattle. My son is 6. I painted his dresser. I bought the paint at Lowes.”
When I was outside and didn’t have family and furniture to itemize, I
moved on to alphabetical lists of categories like colors, animals or
vegetables: A: Artichokes: Broccoli, C: Cauliflower, D: Pass, E:
Eggplant…..seriously, there’s gotta be a D…..”
I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that while my mind was a whirling mess, I gave a pretty decent appearance of looking like I had my sh*t together. (Which may make this post a little bit of a shock to my friends and family. Surprise!)
There were some differences that I’m sure close friends noticed: I was less talkative, because talking and laughing made me feel like I was going to pass out in the hummus plate. I wasn’t drinking (no alcohol needed when you already feel all loopy.) I didn’t go out as much since the noise and high ceilings of bars and restaurants triggered panic attacks. I couldn’t even go to friends houses, because I didn’t want to explain why I had to get up take what my husband and I started calling, “walkabouts” every ten minutes.
I guess I should explain what a “walkabout” is – or at least try to, because they make no rational sense to anyone but me. A “walkabout” was my coping mechanism for when my body & brain ganged up on my and said, “if you keep sitting where you’re sitting, we’re going to make you feel like you’re floating/falling, can’t breath/are breathing too much, and are passing out/are having an adrenaline rush all at the same time.”
My husband (and hero through this whole ordeal), and I developed the understanding that every 10 minutes or so, I would simply say, “walk-about” and he would read or check his phone while I wandered around the house, refilling my water, grabbing a snack, doing some laundry, silently going through my category ABCs until I was ready to sit down and watch the next 10 minutes of our very-interrupted programming on TV.
Somewhere in this craziness that was now my life, I did go to the doctor. He ran me through a series of blood tests, an EKG and had me switch allergy pills and discontinue the Sudafed, which can cause over stimulation. After a week, with no change in symptoms, he agreed it was time for a visit from my ol’ friend, Zoloft again.
I have to admit, even though I had been on it for a year before, I was scared.
I don’t like taking medication, I didn’t even take pain meds after my kids were born. And as happy as I am to enjoy a mind-alerting margarita, I didn’t like the idea of taking a mind-altering drug, no matter how much it improved my life the last time.
In case anyone reading this is having the same fears, here are the questions I wish someone would have answered for me, (based on my experience.)
Did you try other medications? Yes. Back when I took medication for my post-partum anxiety, I think I went through two other medications before finding one that worked. The others ‘worked’ but gave me a jittery, caffeine feeling. This one worked for me but everyone is different. In fact, for some people, medication can make their situation worse. I highly recommend making sure at least a couple people in your life know if you’re starting the medication so that they are on high alert to keep an eye out for any concerning changes in mood or behavior. As with everything else in this post, this is just MY EXPERIENCE. I am as far from a medical professional as possible. But if you feel like you’re having some of the same feelings I’ve described, I can’t encourage you enough to see a medical professional.
How long did it take to feel better? The first week, I was feeling okay, but at the end of the second week I had the worst night-time panic attack of my life. I called my doctor the next day and told him I wanted to stop, but he reassured me that sometimes it gets worse before it gets better and told me to give it at least one more week. I’m so glad I did.
After about four weeks on the medication, I was 95% back to my old self. The only remaining issue was that I still needed my walkabouts while watching TV. Oddly, I could stand and watch TV or I could sit and do anything else, but if I tried to sit and watch TV I needed walkabouts. I dunno. But it was such an improvement, I was happy to be down to just that one issue.
By 6-8 weeks, I was back to ‘normal’.
I have no idea if my results are typical. Others may feel better sooner, later, or not at all. The only way to know for sure is to check with your doctor and see what works for you.
Did it make you sleepy? Holy crap, yes! But only for the first month or so.
Did you gain weight? Yes, and no. I did, but it was only the 10 pounds that I lost during the worst couple of weeks I had when my symptoms were so bad I could barely sit up to eat and trying to coordinate chewing and swallowing made me feel like I couldn’t breathe and was dying. I’m back to the weight I’ve been for the past 20 years, so I don’t think the medication caused weight gain, it just caused me to be able to eat normally again.
So, do you walk around all peaceful and happy all the time? No. I think that’s a big misconception that antidepressants are a ‘happy pill’. It got me back to feeling normal, that means I still have normal good and bad days, happy and sad times. I still have to count on my Maudie’s margaritas for the peaceful/happy part.
Do you still have any symptoms? I’ve been pretty symptom free since after the first 4-6 weeks on the medication. I do notice some of the lightheadedness and a little of the arm-tingling sensation during PMS or if I’m watching a really tense scene in a movie.
So, why after keeping this a secret from everyone for so long am I now plastering it on the internet for everyone to see?
Because I realized it’s not a secret that needs to be a secret. I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about and I’m hoping that by being one less person keeping it a secret, someone who needs help won’t be as nervous about asking for it. We didn’t cause this, we’re not making it up and we’re not alone.
And, because over the past few months, I’ve come to realize, and admit to myself that a ‘mystery virus’ that I had back in college that kept me couch and home-bound for almost two years of my life, was probably related to a similar anxiety issue. (That’s a whole other story for another time.) Back then, a doctor had suggested an antidepressant. I didn’t want to be “the girl on an antidepressant” so I took it for a few days and it made me tired, so I stopped.
And I lost the years between my 19th and 21st birthday.
I don’t want anyone else to lose years, months or even weeks of their lives to something that is often treatable.
Anxiety and panic attacks are scary, confusing, mean, sad, frustrating, embarrassing and make you feel completely helpless and out of control of your own mind and body.
But you are in control. You have the choice to take care of yourself. If you’re having symptoms of anxiety and panic, talk to someone and go see a doctor.
You have nothing to be embarrassed of.
Unless of course, you and your 1980’s fem-mullet also did an impromptu, lazy-Rockette’s dance number to Centerfold. Then you (and I) should really be embarrassed.
HEB is THE grocery store in Texas. Pro-tip: It’s pronounced by saying the actual letters, H–E–B. It is not pronounced Heb, like Jeb, and most importantly, it’s not pronounced Hebe, like the ethnic slur. H, E & B are the initials of founder, Howard Edward Butt. (Cue giggling children.)
I was honored to lead a panel at this year’s Mom 2.0 Summit. My topic was “Activism as an Influencer – How To Be The Driver of Change in Your Community,” so I assembled five of the smartest, fiercest women I know who are driving change in our community and beyond.
Because there were so many amazing sessions to choose from at the same time as ours, (not to mention a literal room full of puppies!) we have put together some highlights for those who missed it, (and for those of you who made it but were too full of Dove lounge champagne to remember all the details.)
I spent the day rushing across town to the capitol (twice) and spent five hours hurry-up-and-waiting to try to testify in support of HB 517. HB 517 is a bill by Celia Israel, intended to stop unprofessional conduct by healthcare providers who inflict conversion “therapy” (torture) on kids.
In the end, I showed up both ten hours too early and ten minutes too late, as the bill which was scheduled for 10:30am was actually heard at 7:45pm, while I was across town casting votes at the AISD School Health Advisory Council meeting. I rushed back to the capitol as soon as the meeting was over, but instead of providing public testimony, I ended up slinking up to the reporter as she was recording testimony comments for the next bill and handing her my stack of printed comments to (hopefully) be submitted to the committee.
I have exciting news for you all – After 42 years on this planet, I have finally achieved my goal in life!
I know what you’re saying to yourself. “Wow, I wish I could achieve my goal in life, maybe I should work harder!” Maybe you should. Because then you could be like me, 42 years old without a single care in the world, living the rest of my life free and easy because I’m no longer burdened by my life-long goal of finding the perfect sugar cookie recipe.
Any parent who has been in a toy aisle with a hangry toddler who’s tired from staying up too late the previous night hate-tweeting and binge-watching Fox News can empathize with the 116th Congress having to deal with our President’s border wall fixation.
Just like a three-year-old kicking and screaming on the floor because you won’t buy them the extravagant, over-priced toy that they bragged to all the kids in class that they were going to get, our toddler of a president is ready to prove to the world that nobody is better at throwing tantrums than he is.
I was digging through an old bookcase today when this old, folded-up note fell out. I unfolded it to discover the six-page list of ‘guidelines and explanations’ (my own obnoxious choice of words) that I had written years ago for my mother and father-in-law when they came to care for our daughter while I took a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Italy with my mom.
This was eight years ago. My daughter had just turned one, plus we had moved into a new house the week prior. There were boxes everywhere, not to mention the general craziness of living with a one year old. Even with all that, my in-laws were kind enough to volunteer to fly from Arizona to Seattle to watch her for ten days, while my husband was at work, so that my mom and I could go on a food and wine tour across Italy.
I am still grateful that they gave us this gift of their time and in hindsight, am even more grateful that they didn’t either bolt for the door or laugh in my face when they saw what follows. Read more