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I got into my car after stopping to run at my parents (and perhaps getting the last pool day of the season) when I noticed my dad repaired my truck registration with scotch tape. This year's batch of stickers were not very sticky and the adhesive didn't adhere to my windshield. I looked up and noticed my dad went to work on the material.
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Karma, I decided, is having a father to look out for me to do the labor that fixes the little things that irk me. The fact that it hasn't stuck has been a pet peeve of mine, but I haven't found a moment to repair it myself. Driving to my little sister's home for ribs and salt potatoes, I was highly thankful for my dad's patchwork with Scotch Tape. Now, I'm registered and looking classy in my floor explore. This is what family is for.
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