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THIS IS MY WIFE, AND RECENTLY, A SALES ASSISTANT TOLD HER THAT SHE WASN’T “PRETTY ENOUGH” TO WORK IN THEIR STORE – I RETURNED THERE A FEW DAYS LATER FOR THE PERFECT REVENGE My beloved wife, Emma, decided to start looking for a job in retail, thinking it would be the perfect fit for her interests. One day, while at the shopping center, she saw that a famous lingerie shop was hiring, as advertised on a poster outside the store. Emma excitedly went into the store and tried to speak to the sales assistant. However, the assistant ignored her until she was practically right in her face. Emma asked how she could apply for the job, and the sales assistant looked her up and down with a sneer before delivering the blow: “Look, I don’t think you’re pretty enough for this job. NO CHANCE. Don’t even try.” Emma came home in tears, absolutely devastated. My heart broke seeing her like that. But then, anger took over. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can treat my wife like that and get away with it. I decided I was going to teach that sales assistant a lesson she would never forget. A few days later, I went to the same lingerie store, making sure that the same assistant was there, and pretended to
I DIDN’T WANT A CAREGIVER—I WANTED MY OLD LIFE BACK When they first told me I’d never walk again, I didn’t cry. I just nodded like I was hearing the weather forecast. Sunny with a chance of paralysis. I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want “you’re so strong” speeches. I just wanted space to feel like I’d lost something I couldn’t even name. So when the nurse said I’d need part-time help, I flat-out refused. “I’ve got it,” I said. I didn’t. The kitchen was a battlefield, showers were impossible, and don’t even get me started on dropped spoons. That’s when Saara showed up. She wasn’t what I pictured. Younger than I expected, and not overly sweet. She didn’t speak to me like I was fragile. She just asked, “Where’s your coffee?” and started making a cup like she’d been doing it for years. At first, I kept her at arm’s length. No personal questions, no chatting. She helped with the basics and left. But over time, I caught myself laughing at her dumb jokes. I started saving little things I knew she’d like—books from my shelf, articles I thought she’d want to read. Then one day, I had a breakdown over something stupid. I’d dropped a bowl and couldn’t reach it. I just sat there, furious at the world. Saara didn’t rush to fix it. She sat on the floor next to me and said, “It’s not about the bowl, is it?” And something cracked open. I didn’t want a caregiver. I didn’t want help. But she made it feel like something else. Like maybe I hadn’t lost everything. Like maybe connection didn’t have to feel like defeat. Then yesterday, she told me she’s ⬇️ (continue reading in the first cᴑmment)
