Footprints in the Snow

I like it when the lint catcher gets really thick and I can pull that dense multi-colored sheet of collected fuzzies off the filter.

I dislike static. Oh so much so much so much.

Chup likes his cookies well-done-ish.

Chup dislikes forwarded e-mails. He calls it "sheep passing on the baaaaad news."

I like studying the socks in the accessories aisles at Target.

I dislike the sound I hear when I wear my puffy coat and Chup touches my back. It's like loud and crackly and nylon-y and loud. And if he forgets how bad I hate it and he touches me I have to hold his hand for a few seconds after. I don't know why. It's something about moisture. I have a thing with moisture which is partly why I hate static. Don't ever shock me after you've been sliding around on a trampoline. I will hate you forever.

Chup likes Minute Maid's new Orangeade.

Chup dislikes sleeping under the covers.

I like seeing the puppies for sale in the parking lot of Sportsman's Warehouse on Saturday afternoons.

Chup likes his new car we bought tonight. It is going to cost us exactly five hundred seventy-two dollars and thirty three cents less in gas every month.

Chup dislikes it when we have a fresh snowfall and our property transforms into a field of undisturbed winter wonderlawn only to have the mailman come along, cut across our beloved driven snow on his way from our mailbox to our neighbor's leaving big, fat, cruel, mailman tracks in his wake.

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