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Nothing up my sleeve…

August 8, 2011

 

Hilda had been asked politely to leave by at least three restaurants that same evening. And the problem, apparently, was her sleeves. They were a fire hazard. Hilda had pointed out (quite correctly, she felt) that it wasn’t her fault the restaurants insisted on putting those little candles right in the middle of the tables. It wasn’t her fault that one over-enthusiastic gesture could result in a health and safety disaster. But she sure as heck wasn’t going to change- because when something looked as good as her new dress, how could it possibly be bad- and when something felt this right, how could it be wrong?  

Still. A girl had to eat. Maybe she should investigate suppliers of fire-resistant fabrics…

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