In the hardware store, I select a quart of interior paint from the brands on the shelf. Bright white, for household trim. “My,” the cashier says, as she rings me up, “you’re quite the golden…
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How does it feel to be beautiful? In my mind, that’s what you are. What I think of you, though, isn’t as important as what you think of you. If you don’t love yourself, it’s apt to show, one way or another.
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