I seem to choose the optimum time to move to a place. We moved to Des Moines in January 1996, and within two weeks of our arrival we had had two blizzards, twenty-two inches of snow, and it was twenty-five degrees BELOW ZERO (which is unusual even for Des Moines).
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Sheesh. 107?!?
Okay, I will NOT complain. I won't. I won't make any comments about having seen a road sign welcoming me to the surface of the sun, nor will I estimate the number of days before my death from spontaneous combustion.
I will, however, employ some hyperbole.
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