I was twelve-year-old boy browsing in the magic store in the mall when the pretty, blonde, teenage clerk asked me if I wanted a demonstration of a trick.

I can’t remember anything about the trick because I spent the entire time staring down her shirt.

When she was done I sheepishly thanked her and extracted myself from the store.

I was embarrassed about what I’d done and I was sure she thought I was some kind of pervert.

Ten years later, I convinced myself that she might have been flattered.

Ten years after that, I stopped caring what she thought.

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