By Ana Prundaru
I preferred to introduce myself as a dancer, although I worked as an accountant. The tendency to decorate the truth was something I learned from a guy named Luc, who I met in France. Even after years, his remnants hypnotized me. I was on my way to a blind date. Luc’s grip oozed when I saw him in front of Starbucks. I trapped Luc into paling photographs and went with a semi-truth: “I used to be a dancer.” He said he only fell for copper haired women. Removing the scratchy wig, I replied that life was magical, but not Disney magical.
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