Gone Fishing: The Great Debate (or, How I Nearly Drowned in a Jim Beam Decanter) It all started innocently enough—coffee with my sister. I love my sister, but bless her heart; she could talk the ears off a cornstalk. That morning, her weapon of choice was cream. “Enough to float a donut,” she quipped, eyeing my black coffee like a swamp creature. I, ever the instigator, couldn’t resist a little poke: “Coffee with your cream?” She rolled her eyes, a gesture I’d seen more times than a fisherman’s lure. Then, she swerved into a monologue about a coffee sale as if on cue. Knowing I was about to be dragged down a conversational rabbit hole, I threw out my line: “Something’s been bothering me. Maybe you could help me figure it out?” Hook, line, and sinker. I told her about
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