The Solution

Dear "Sue Dohcue,"

Every day when I come into work, I hang my coat on the hook behind the door; I put down my coffee and croissant; I immediately kick off my sensible heels underneath my desk and sit on my right foot.

Alt + Ctrl + Delete

Super secret password.

Up pops my background of Napoleon in Indian war paint.

god, i love this picture.

And then I look out my window… right into your window, right at your computer screen. I don’t want to embarrass you, so I won’t mention your name, but you’ve been working on the same su doku puzzle for about a week now and it’s really not all that hard. I watch you put in the wrong numbers all the time, cross them out and try again. Honestly, it makes me hurt a little on the inside. Do you even know the rules? You do know that there’s no math involved, right?
I desperately wish I could fling open our windows, and paper-airplane the solution to you. Or I can throw you a rope and we can set up a clothesline between us and I would shimmy it over. I know our windows don’t open or there would be far more suicides, so here:

Now you know I know, and because I know, everyone else must too.

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