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There are many ways to tell a story. Especially one that has been told thousands of times before.
We go to another bar. Drink another pitcher. Go through the entire interaction blow by blow. We never drink together on the Upper East Side again.
Then a horde of drunk people in formal wear danced to a live band’s rendition of Pit Bull’s Timber while a gargantuan slideshow of sick African people played above them. Sobriety felt very good that night.
For of peace mind, I told myself as I shelled out $125. But there was no peace of mind for me. The exterminator found the telltale sign of a new infestation on my box spring: feces. Bed bug feces.
It's embarrassing to admit, but The Secret is working for me. Or I'm deluded. Either way, it feels great.
If your reaction is to think, ‘Wow, I better start avoiding my women coworkers lest something like this happen to me and ruin my life’ you are making some, perhaps unconscious, assumptions.