Slamming the door of the slick black Ferrari shut, I unconsciously combed the frontals of my wigs to smoothen the wispy curls down and tucking the long ends behind my ears as I headed into the therapist building, my sneakers clad feet glided down the floor, up the stairs till I walked passed the door which I came to last week Thursday.
I grudgingly walked towards the table where I was supposed to write my name down firstly as a patient before seeing any doctor.
The middle aged woman sitting down behind the table cradling different files ranging from colours to size scattered on the left side of the table while the right side displayed different patients cards in three different colours.
"Aunty, Good morning, since you can't greet." The woman which I was already starting to hate spat out her lips as she not so stubbly glared at me.
What's this woman's problem now?
