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When I surprised Savannah with tickets to see the Dallas Wings play in San Francisco, she screamed, dropped to the floor of our dining room, and rolled around in tears.
I sat here eating my dinner a little baffled. We were going to a basketball game. Even more baffling was her request for a two-hour get ready time frame in our dodgy hotel room. Couldn’t we spend that afternoon finding a San Francisco bakery and a good flat white instead?
No. This was the…
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