A married couple are eager to start a family, but what will it take? Image generated with OpenAI There's a new billboard up on the Turnpike. "Your Mommy Makeover Awaits!" it announces. "Liposuction, Tummy Tuck. 888.888NJPS newjerseyplasticsurgery.com." On it is a very blonde and athletic-looking woman in a white bikini, winter scarf, and one of those furry hats with the ear flaps. They're called Ushankas, apparently - I look it up when I get stuck in traffic. Derived from the Russian word ushi , which means ears. It's a strange combination, the bathing suit and the winter wear, but I guess that's how these ads get your attention. I'm driving home from my job at the New Jersey Division of Consumer Affairs. Wait Wait Don't Tell Me is on. The contestant's doing pretty well, three for three so far. I look up and this woman in her Ushanka is giving me eyes. She looks pretty good, if I'm being honest, and I start thinking abou...
A broken woman finds an unusual source of companionship in the shape of an ugly fish she bought from the market. Image generated with OpenAI Ahimsa Fiorskaya wanted nothing to do with people, because they lied - or chose not to tell the truth. They greeted her during the coldest, dreariest mornings, telling her how delightful the weather was and that she should stroll in the warm sunshine and bring color to her pallid cheeks. Or, they looked forward to dancing with her at the village festival though she could hardly walk, let alone dance because her right leg suffered damage at an early age. Even worse, they assured her that a handsome prince from a faraway land would arrive in the village and sweep her off her good foot. I am done with all of it, she thought. I will not waste my time listening to their nonsense. One day, the lonely woman, who lived on the banks of the Rushing River in the village of Sazloni, walked into the local fish market. As she eyed the large select...
Cedric desperately needs a wee, but has a small duty to carry out first; by James Lyon. Image generated with OpenAI I need the toilet, thought Cedric, but first I must dispose of this empty coffee cup. Cedric's bladder had never been on his side, especially not when long journeys were involved. The train was slow pulling into the station. A volcanic argument next door, which had him tossing and turning past four in the morning, meant coffee was very much in order. Cedric's lifelong inability to urinate on moving vehicles meant using the train toilet was out of the question. But first, the cup. The damned conscience-driven compulsion that made finding a bin for this cup as urgent as a scorching bladder. A rush for the barriers, which opened after a few quick bashes of his phone against the ticket reader, some slow-motion seconds behind a flock of infuriatingly relaxed amblers, and Cedric was outside Leeds Station with a burning bladder and a handful of responsib...
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