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The card on  my door and the flower petals.

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It's called a door.  Say it with me everybody, DOOR.

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Inside the envelope was a card.  I think they planned on somehow morphing into one being, but then the guy called in sick.  Mad scientists ... so unreliable.  At least they never have roomates.  I would hate to share that power bill!

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Silly me ... I opened the card.  There were a whole hell of a lot more rose petals in it, but they sort of fell everywhere when I pulled it out of the envelope.

Oh, and thanks for the message, Ross.  You were more elaborate when you signed your own Secret Santa present.  (But I still love you ... or at least I think I do ... you never know with these drugs)

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The flowers they got me.  It would be a lot nicer if I actually had a vase to put them in.  Currently, my options are looking like a sawed-off squash bottle or ... no, that's it.  Even if I felt like downing a bottle of vodka the neck is still too narrow.

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I said they looked like breasts.  I am not a horny lesbian, I just study anatomy.

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I thought it was a pig, but it's actually a grizzly bear.  The text next to it, with the arrow pointing at it's rear end, says "a grizzly bear for my favourite Canadian".  Because, you know, I am.  Even if I cannot get my camera to get a decent picture of the drawing.

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My favourite comment of them all.  It reads:

Irish whiskey?  Chin up, as long as there's some of that left, everything will be alright!  Have a top day!

(He was my Secret Santa, and he remembered all the times I went on about how I do not like Scotch and prefer Irish whiskey.  He bought me a bottle of Jameson's.  I ♥ Alistair)