Doug hops out of bed looking good. He can wear paint stained jeans and a threadbare shirt and he still looks handsome. When he dresses up, he is so yummy I just want to stare at him. I wake up with sheet wrinkles and drool marks. I wear jeans and sweaters every day. I wore real shoes last night so I would look less ‘earthy’ and more like someone who belongs with Doug. I know that sandals and socks make the fashion police grind their teeth. Today I have a torn blister on my pinky toe. I guess my feet will only accept Birks. Sorry Doug.

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