“I see you’re married,” says the guy after signing my timesheet at the temp gig. “How long?”
I take a beat to process this, since: 1. I didn’t know he was paying attention to anything about me at all, because 2. this is the first overtly friendly gesture he’s made in two days and I’m not entirely sure what it means or why he’s decided to change it up now.
“Um, yeah, married nine years this September!” I say cheerfully after I recover and fold the timesheet to put it in my bag.
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