Jane was messing up big time. She was late for work;
she had missed the bus and was taking a shortcut that she had never taken before.
It had been her dream ever since she was a kid to work for the greatest
designer in Paris; Mirabelle Posh but not like this. Was this the designer's house?
The gate creaked open as Jane pushed it. Just then an old woman with her hair
tied up in a bun opened the door and shouted in a hoarse voice “How
many times do I have to tell you people I am MIRABELLA Posh, WRONG HOUSE!”
How could this day get any worse?
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