Then there’s my hair. Today I put a comb on top to hold back the overgrown front part. I think I’d look better in my zoom square without the comb. How weird will it be if I’m seen arranging my coif?
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Did I really become a complacent worrywart because of a Times reader’s tip? If so, how much effort must I devote to the New York Times’s comments sections to solve all my problems?
“Come here; I just want to talk to you,” she sings in a tone that belies daggers. Two flight attendants are poised by the cabin door, ready, I am certain, to slam it behind me.
biting into a peach at Trader Joe’s and then throwing it away is a freedom I have as a white person, no less one with gray hair and a Medicare card in her fanny pack.