New York

It used to be that I could call you on a Sunday afternoon to say, “Meet us at Shoolbred’s!” And you’d be there in ten, guacamole order placed, debating whether to sit in front of the fireplace or at the round mosaic table with the street view.

The biggest downside, though, was the fact that the most shallow, soul-crushing men kept coming at her with their backhanded compliments, that habit called negging.


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