A problem, potentially

Lately I really want to put spicy mustard on everything. Carrots! Pasta! What? This would be fine, except for the fact that Steve hates mustard and probably doesn’t want me smelling like it or to find it in my hair. I guess my palate is looking for some action. Or: I’m pregnant with either an old man from Long Island who eats a lot of hot dogs, or a slightly snooty woman from Connecticut who serves perfect appetizers at her dinner parties.

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