I found it an intriguing concept. On my daughter’s first day interning at a big-name concert and restaurant venue, "Redemption Analysis" was listed as one of her duties.

Immediately, I had visions of my youngest daughter walking elderly ladies across busy intersections, working at the food bank, and bringing home stray kittens so that the clouds might part and angels might belt out a few hip-hop numbers.

Apparently, I had the wrong kind of redemption in mind.

"Coupons," she harrumphed, in that familiar "My mother’s an idiot" style long ago perfected by my teenage spawns.

"Ah! You mean ROI — return on investment," I countered smugly to no one. Alas, Elvis had already left the room.

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