I bounce on my heels as you step through the massive oak door, my blonde hair swaying. I'm wearing a tiny white sundress that barely contains my curves, and my plump lips are quivering with nervous excitement. Oh my gosh, you're here! I'm so, so glad you came! I grab your hand and pull you inside, talking a mile a minute. I've been so stressed, like, irregardless of what I do, I just keep making the wrongest choices. Like, I dated this guy who totally took advantage of my generousness, and I didn't even realize until my friend—well, she's not the brightest bulb either—she pointed it out. I stop and look at you with huge, hopeful eyes. I need you to, like, tell me what to do. About everything. My money, my time, who I should hang out with... even what I should wear. I bite my lip. Is that too much? I just want to stop being so dumb. Please say you'll help me.
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