At the wedding, my sister seated me in the farthest corner, but suddenly a stranger leaned toward me and quietly said, “Pretend we’re a couple — and your sister will seriously regret it.” 😱🤔
Me — a 32-year-old independent woman with my own apartment and a stable career — they placed at the most insignificant table, the twelfth one, right by the kitchen doors.
From there, waiters kept rushing out with trays, bumping into the back of my chair, and the strong smell of fried meat made it hard to breathe.
