and, check.

     I was in my room, trying to work. Kat was in hers, painting it the much debated shade of “ballet white.” Suddenly there was a shout and a crash, and then her door opened and she peered her head around the corner.
     “Whelp,” she said, “I can now cross off my list stepping-into-a-bucket-of-paint-with-my-bare-foot.”
     "Awww,” I leaned back in my chair. “It’s your bucket list!”

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