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I lounged in bed on Sunday morning and basked in the afterglow of tingling toes caused by euphoria and the rapture of the night. The sheets were rumpled and damp, the scent of roses lingered in the air, and an upturned champagne bottle bobbed in the ice bucket. Love was in the air.

I turned to my husband and said, “Do you want to do it again, my sweet?”

He groaned, rolled over, and said, “No.”

As I inched my way across the bed I said, “Why forever not, my darling?”

“Because, I am sick to death of checking your blog stats since you were Freshly Pressed, damn it!”

I ignored him and continued to inch across the bed to reach for my laptop. My husband turned on the football game.

C’mon people. What were you thinking? Get your minds out of the gutter. This is a PG blog I have going here.

Thank you to Michelle at WordPress for having a moment of insanity and deciding to Freshly Press this humble blog. Merci to the thousands of folks who stopped by this place for a gander.  Gracias to the all who “liked,” “followed,” and left thought-provoking comments. I will respond to you all as soon as I can. And my deepest gratitude to my blogging friends who keep me motivated.

Last, but not least . . . thanks honey, for indulging me when I asked, “Can we look at my stats just one more time?”

Back to our regular programming here shortly.  I promise. I hope. However, I am currently dealing with more issues with my aging folks.

Here is me looking stunned when my Freshly Pressed blog went live. Deer in the headlights?

Here I am looking stunned when my Freshly Pressed post went live. Deer in the headlights?

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