Dearest Daughters,
This time last year, we were getting ready to move to our new house.
Correction. We were getting ready to move out of our apartment, down two flights of stairs, into Lola's house, where we stayed for two weeks while all of our stuff sat in our new backyard, while we waited for the hardwood floors to cure and the pain fumes to evaporate.
This was Babybel round about that time:
Proof that you've always been goofy. It wasn't the fumes.
Love,
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