Times when I too was given poor advice:
May 2, 1845: Shorn my flock of shearlings a month too early on a tip from the my neighbors, the Rosenblats. Little lambs never trusted me again.
Jan 8, 1849: Left a pickled herring in the sun, told it’d take the twinge out the taste. It smelt something terrible and Emily got a case of the weaklins.
April 24, 1830: Had the barber remove my moustache after my fourth cousin Jens said it was no longer a sign of aristocracy. When I visited the family polo match a week later and everyone still had their whiskers, I had him killed. Never told anyone until this day.
I will give my comments in person seeing how you will be in LA in mere hours
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