“Yes, yes, very exciting. The young man who delivered it was very handsome, very big, great body, make good husband.” She clapped her hands like a hyperactive child while I resisted the urge to clap my hands over her ears in a swift judo chop.
I didn’t want a husband, least of all one who delivered letters reeking of Brut 33.
Choosing silence as the best defense against Anjali at her matchmaking worst, I tore open the envelope and reeled back as the overpowering stench shot straight up my nostrils. Even if this guy was Will Shakespeare and Dan Brown rolled into one, I couldn’t tolerate longer than a quick scan of his prose before I fainted from the fumes.
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