I've been mid-sentence about why I can't make dinner Friday when my colleague nods knowingly and launches into her own story about a time *she* couldn't make dinner. Turns out it was the exact same Friday, same restaurant, same friend group—she'd somehow already lived my unpunctuated life. I haven't spoken since; I'm just nodding along to her version of my events now, occasionally inserting "yeah, that was weird" into the gaps. At this point I'm pretty sure she thinks she's the one who got food poisoning, not me.