Count 10 seconds and then speak.
My last encounter with a deadly foot and mouth disease took place a couple of months ago.
I was born into the type of family if our foot isn’t inserted in our mouths then we’re not talking.
I was having the type of day where everything I touched turned into poo, so when I received a direct message from a woman I had never talked to before, my guard wasn’t up. Survival instincts should have kicked into high gear and I shouldn’t have looked at the message until after going home, eating supper, taking a shower and grabbing an hour or two to wind down from my stressful day.
I was only twenty minutes away from leaving my workday from hell behind, but I read her message and the rest is humiliating history. Any names and conversations have been changed slightly to condense events and to protect me from a…
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