Cornerstone Partner
There I stood, ankle-deep in products I'd bought in moments of weakness, usually after too much wine and a late-night scroll through Facebook. "This one reverses sun damage." "This one plumps." "This one tightens, lifts, brightens, hydrates, and whispers kind things to your pores." All promises. All lies.
As I bent to pick them up, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Always a gamble. I studied the terrain like David Attenborough encountering a well-loved habitat under threat.
My boobs? One slightly higher than the other — the unrequested souvenir from breast cancer surgery. Not dramatic enough to fix, but just different enough to look like they're in an argument.
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