Dear Anna Manso, I have a nice business for you.

Dear Anna Manso, I'm writing to you, using the epistolary method that usually characterizes us letter-wounded, because the other day you wrote an article in the ARA that filled my heart with soot. It said: "Person who doesn't know me at all, don't tell me pretty". You explained, tired of aesthetic pressure, how often men say that to you. With examples. In a phone store, at the supermarket, in a restaurant... You said that this isn't about beauty and that men, on the other hand, aren't told this.

Dear Anna, I feel bad looking like one, I feel like one, could you give me the addresses of these stores? The phone store, the supermarket and the restaurant, I'm going to go today, to see if I run into your same misfortune. They tell me this, but since it's true, it doesn't affect me. The only person who's called me "pretty" lately is the hairdresser, after I'd done my hair. Low-intensity pimping. If I see that things are working, that they say "pretty" to me, well, I'll propose a business. One of those quick-charge chargers that cost five euros, I'll go with you. When you need cans of cat, a chicken breast and a celery, I'll go with you.