One Sunday afternoon, my husband and I found ourselves in an ice cold classroom waiting for our daughter to perform in a piano festival. We sat on even colder, hard plastic chairs designed to keep high school students awake under the most boring circumstances, such as listening to their teachers, or while executing the most tedious of tasks, like taking tests. Either my husband had reached an age where the sleepless guarantee on the chairs had expired, or the circumstances in which we sat defied the definition of boring. I vote for the latter.

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