Yesterday, Eryn pulled a cookie out of the back seat while we were driving around and asked me, "Dad, I found a fortune cookie, can I eat it?"
"Of course, honey. Mom and I got it for you on Thursday when we were having lunch at the Chinese Restaurant."
"Dad, do you want to hear the fortune?"
"Sure."
"You will soon find a perfect parking spot at Thomson Reuters."
WTF? I was having a difficult time wrapping my brain around how the Chinese Restaurant near my house had managed such a spectacularly apropos fortune, until I realized that maybe it wasn't the cookie from the restaurant, but the cookie the Findlaw people gave me in the hallway several weeks ago. At least I hope it was.
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