“You…fucking…bastard!” Her words came in staccato bites through clenched teeth. “You fucking miserable piece of shit!” She spit the words ...o hard that spittle now trickled down her chin, joining tears that were now rolling down her cheeks freely.“Some of what you say is true,” I replied. “I might be a piece of shit, and I definitely will be fucking very soon. But I’m not a bastard. My father actually married my mother. And I’m definitely not miserable. I’m enjoying myself immensely”.The woman. I picked up my new megaphone-shaped purse and walked out, cringing at the load clip-clop from my shoes echoing down the hall, counterpointed from the jangling caused by all my jewelry.Sure enough, just as I got in the car, I started feeling ill, and started to dig into my purse. I found a piece of Bubble Yum and popped it into my mouth, ignoring the sickly taste. I lined my lips with the only lip gloss I saw (Strawberry Angel), and felt much better, physically. Mentally, this demonstration only. More

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