It was a low-key Saturday night. I was home, tired from the workweek and shaking my bonbon the weekend before at LQ’s. I may be an empowered 31-year-old, but I can’t party like a rockstar any more! I lay in bed, flipping through channels, when my phone beeped indicating I had a text message. Maybe it was Mr. Alcohol, I thought. He had stuck to the 3-day rule and then some. I looked at my Blackberry screen. Nope, it wasn’t Mr. Alcohol. It was a work email from an unknown contact. I sighed, expecting a message from an advertiser or an email from a potential writer, and clicked it open.
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