Afterward when travelers to Paris talk – and they do – much is sometimes made of the city’s saleswomen. Polished to a gloss and presiding within the chic boutiques of Avenue Montaigne, or windswept, stoic and cold behind the winter apple display of an outdoor market,...
“You’re a doormat,” says Kristin, the hypnotherapist. I perch, pathetic, on the edge of her soft, green sofa. The sofa sags from the weight of the woe I and countless hypnotherapees before me have brought to Kristin’s office for healing. “You’re afraid to say the word...
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