In some ways, this summer job of mine has been a lot like high school. There's the dress code which seems to target me with unshakable singularity...the teasing...the innuendo. There's the crush on the beautiful guy whose appeal is only expounded by his inappropriateness for me...and, to make it thoroughly high school-esque, his name is Brandon
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I "got over" Brandon more often than I changed my bras. (I'm also really lucky that Bryan White never knew about me, I'm thinkin'.)
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The customer's are a bit demanding
I didn't even read past this sentence.
FOR SHAME.
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Are you pointing out my horrific grammar? Because I JUST noticed. I feel like an oaf. I feel...like I've been working at a furniture company all summer.
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