And then I got out of bed, flipped myself two eggs over easy, and was about to smother them in ketchup when the act became too vile for me. I'm not a snooper, but I had to look. I started in his wallet, not sure what I expected, as if a condom or lipstick or whatever else definitive would come tumbling out, answering my prayers and creating my nightmares. I found it in the unexpected--a Chick-fil-A receipt with ten digits neatly printed on the back in tongue pink colored ink.