Megan stared at the stain, horrified. She looked down as she heard the clap of chubby, sticky hands on chubby, sticky cheeks and the well-used childhood phrase, “Uh-oh”. How was she going to tell her sister? The hair-always-straight-from-the-salon, maid-comes-on-Tuesdays-and-Thursdays, never-has-a-stitch-out-of-place sister , that she now had a toddler-hand-shaped strawberry and peanut butter Rorschach blot on her $7,500 winter white sofa?
Megan stared at the stain, horrified. How could they have let him here, looking like that? Even shelters should have standards, shouldn’t they? His shirt looked like it had seen no fewer than ten different meals and contained the evidence of each one of them. He wouldn’t look her in the eye, which was just fine with her. What good would eye contact do, when she had nothing in common with a man like that?
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