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My name is Mary Lee Owens, and I was born in the wrong century. Though I don’t carry delusions that wearing a corset would make my life any less problematic, I imagine it would give me good excuse to faint upon occasion, which might prove useful.

For instance, when my anal-retentive boss insists that I stand while working to increase productivity, I could fall into a swoon that would convince him to allow me to sit. Or when my new dark-haired neighbor passes me on the stairwell to my fourth floor apartment, something could come over me suddenly, causing me to fall quite naturally into his previously empty arms.

At the moment, my wardrobe is entirely less convenient. I am wearing eggplant-colored nurse’s scrubs which were recently mandated for the entire office, even the medical records department (of which I am the sole and only employee). White Keds complete the outfit. I am now out of words to describe its blandness.

Happily, there are only two hours and forty-five minutes left of this day and work-week. Though my only plans for the weekend include taking Lady to her first obedience class (she is my eight week old Cocker Spaniel and the love of my life), I imagine it will be much more pleasant than filing medical records in alphabetical order.

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