I sprained my ankle on Friday night. Strapped into high heels for the first time in 15 months, I scurried across a busy street carrying a bottle of wine (hostess gift) in one hand and my purse (mask, lipstick, dental floss, car keys, phone) in the other. Splayed out on the sidewalk like a newborn giraffe, my eyes moistened. And it dawned on me: I’ve bee…
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