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Tara throwing my biggest insecurity in my face puts a damper on my night, and I suddenly have no desire for anyone to see my naked body, regardless of the fact I’ll never have to see them again. An alert pings on my phone. A message from that guy on Tinder asking what my plans are for the night, but I don’t respond. I delete the app entirely, over the whole idea. Instead, I change into a pair of leggings, an oversized thrifted tee, and a flannel, finishing my outfit off with my Air Force Ones. I grab my purse, sling the strap across my body, and head out the door to the bar I found a few blocks away so I can watch my brother’s home opener of the season. All while I am scarfing down on a burger and a beer. Two beers. Probably three beers. Fuck it, let’s not put a limit on it. However many beers it’ll take to make me forget about how shitty I feel.
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