A cozy café-bar on a rainy night where Nigel, a handsome CHIB-style British bartender, leans over the bar listening to a stressed customer with his head in his hands, creating a warm, humorous neighborhood therapy vibe.

HOW TO STOP PEOPLE PLEASING - NIGEL‘S 99 ISSUES AT THE CAFÉ

Today's Saga at Nigel's 99 Issues Café: Rain's coming down sideways, Beatrice is warming up on the back burner, and Nigel's already decided today's going to test his patience — right on cue, the bell rings.

If you're trying to figure out how to stop people-pleasing, welcome to week one of this place, because half of what I've learned about people, I learned before the paint even dried.

There's a stool by the window — one of two matching ones — that nobody's worked out yet lets out a proper fart noise the second you sit on it. I've watched grown men choose to stand for an hour rather than risk it. I've decided not to fix it. Free entertainment, really.

Young woman, first time in. I sit her at the good table — not the farting one, I'm not a monster on day one.

"Apologies in advance about the loo," I tell her. "Plumber's a criminal and a coward. If you're desperate, my competition next door has facilities. Feel free to use theirs and skip paying. Might get you arrested. Worth it, for the cause."

She laughs, sits, doesn't question a word of it. That's week one for you — nobody knows what's normal yet, so whatever I say simply becomes the rule.

"Ethiopian, dark," I say, pouring before she's asked, because I've already clocked the tired in her shoulders.

She starts talking — says yes to everyone, always, covering shifts, lending money, showing up to things she dreads, hating herself a bit more each time.

"Right. Deep breath, love." My voice drops, the joking gone out of it for a second. "Here's how to stop people-pleasingin one sentence: stop treating your own discomfort as less important than their convenience. That's the whole disease and the whole cure."

She blinks, like nobody's said it that plainly before.

"Practice on me. Say no to the scone."

"No," she laughs.

"Brilliant. Go do that again out there."

I flip the record, something with a bit of strut to it. The seriousness passes like weather — in and out, and we're back to normal.

"Now go be an absolute menace and prove me wrong. And come back and tell Uncle Nigel what happened."

THE TRUTH: You're not kind for saying yes to everyone. You're just afraid of what they'll think if you don't. Beatrice took months to season properly — give yourself the same patience.

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