Me. Hundreds of other people. Bright lights. 55 gazillion different Christmas songs playing at THE SAME TIME. Uterus trying to fall out while standing in line for a damn Coke!! Migraine, Migraine! MIGRAINE!!! Can’t find anything I want to buy for her or her or him or him or them.

I.

Can’t.
Breathe.

Am I breathing? Do you see my chest moving? Excuse me, Sir? SIR! Do you see my chest moving because I don’t think I’m breathing. Not my BOOBS, Sir! My chest. Oh, forget it you pervert. If I pass out right here in front of you, do you think you could just step aside and let me sleep down there on the dirty floor? Because that would be B-L-I-S-S compared to shuffling behind you the whole LENGTH OF THE MALL!
I want to hurl myself down the escalator, and if I do, you can bet YOU are coming with me.
P.S. I didn’t buy a damn thing.
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