The Wrinkled Blouse
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want the service, now, would I?” Her gaze ran up and down Ana again, resting on the server’s collar before she said, “Your blouse is wrinkled.”
A wave of embarrassment burnt through Ana, and she had to inch back a step.
She didn’t have electricity at home and couldn’t iron her uniform. She hoped no one would notice.