On the subway this morning, there was a flock of teenage girls. They were passing a small jar of Ponds around.
“Oh it’s not mine,” the girl sitting next to me said, after being given the Ponds back, “it’s my father’s, girlfriend’s. Or really, his wife. They have lived together for years.”
“Same house, same house,” another girl replied.
“Yeah, my father cheated on my mother with this woman Maria, and Iris is a friend of Maria. And then my father cheated on Maria with this Iris, anyway. Grimy…”
(Now guess whose Ponds it is.)

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