“Walk around in these boots to be sure they done’ give you blisters,” ordered the greasy

backwards cap guy.

“I can tell already just by looking at them that these boots are too wide. Didn’t I tell you that I have unusually narrow feet? I have to order…” began Lorraine, only to be cut off by her helper.

“Ay de mi!” he shouted. “Stop with the narrow feet already! Yo gotta walk far in these boots. I will give you socks to pad your bony feet, Okay??”

“My doctor says that it is a miracle I can even walk around on these tiny feet…” she began again. 

“Stop! No more! Get up from the chair and walk in the boots.” he demanded.

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Lorraine put both boots on and attempted a few times to lift herself from the chair, but plopped back down each time. She realized that fatigue and the several beers she had consumed had rendered her rather drunk. Also, she had put on quite a bit of weight. And yet, she persisted. She finally launched herself out of her seat and suddenly felt nature’s call and she aimed herself at the bathroom, clumping across the floor, and flung herself onto the toilet just in time. Once she had relieved herself, she staggered over to the stained little sink, and as she scrubbed her hands with the sliver of soap on its edge, she spotted herself in the mirror and gasped. 

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Lorraine took great pride in her appearance. She spent a small fortune on skin care products and never left the house without perfect make-up. Her hair was her crowning glory. She colored it raven black and never missed an appointment at the salon to keep her color fresh and the basketball-sized ballon of hair trimmed so it fell to the exact length to frame her face, covering the wrinkles on her forehead and the small scars along her hairline, results of a few facelifts. She used expensive lipstick that stayed on for hours so she always looked youthful and beautiful.

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This creature that stared back at her in the mirror made her scream and throw up a little in her mouth. Her wild black hair was striped with a wide white seam along the top of her head, making her look like a skunk. The old mascara and eye liner she had applied before she left Chappie’s hacienda had melted around her eyes, and the dark orbit around her eyes made her look like a raccoon. And the weight she had gained at the hacienda made her cheeks bulge as if she were carrying acorns in each cheek, like a squirrel. In short, she looked like a weird, hybrid woodland animal.

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That she looked fat and old and like a woodland creature were more devastating to her than the nasty boots on her feet. What difference did it make now if she had athlete’s foot? She was a hot mess. She hung her head and left the bathroom and back to the table where her helper had arranged some Army surplus clothes for her to put on. Fat tears fell down her big cheeks as she thought about wearing such horrible clothes. To imagine that she had gone from the latest season of Eileen Fisher clothes to used Army surplus in such a short time! 

“How the mighty have fallen,” she told herself, and realized by the look on the face of the baseball cap guy that she had said it aloud.

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