Me, I'm a city boy. Why? Because on my way to work today (an 8-minute bicycle ride), I stop by my postman's cart to wait for him to come out of building where he's delivering mail.
As I'm waiting, a woman in her mid-40s walks, puffing and grunting, up the slight incline to the entrance of the building I'm waiting in front of. She's carrying a bag full of groceries, and a plastic six-pack of cola bottles from which she's removed two, for some reason. Sweat is running down the tendrils of her hair, and has soaked her generously-proportioned body. She's wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, baggy shorts, and very well-worn sandals. As she fumbles for her keys, she says "Damned heat! I'll be glad when it's over" as sweat drops fall, one by one from the bridge of her nose.
On the side of her grocery bag, in English: "WARNING! DESPERATE HOUSEWIFE!"
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