You were the beautiful vision of natural blond, soft and sparkly. I was the fortysomething woman browsing through the clearance racks, cooling off from hot flashes in the air-conditioned department store and already in a foul mood. You approached me with a brochure for home renovation. I looked you in the eyes and said, “I don't own a home. I can't even afford a rental. Sorry, I can't help you.” I apologize for being what I detest most: a bitch.
—Anonymous
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