This morning, I woke up late, threw my hair in a ponytail and headed out the door for work with a piece of toast hanging out of my mouth.

Not 5 minutes ago, a colleague was in mid-conversation with the dean's secretary and says to me, "Is that a hickey or a curling iron burn?"

Insert stomach drop.

I can feel my face flushing as I say it's a flat-iron burn.

Everyone knows that's a lie.


Love happens.

Apparently, things are still sizzling over at our house. In case you were wondering. (as I'm sure you were.)

Excuse me while I crawl under my desk.

(it's a dang good thing he's so cute.)

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