Accurate attributable to four gal friends are captured beyond their will in a dystopian future and compelled to procreate for their commanding officers doesn’t imply their correct to brunch bitch sessions was once taken away. Beneath his leer! Downtown Gilead is staunch thriving with Handmaid’s who should always vent about the boys of their existence — “my commanding officer Warren and I are having considerations, it’s his ex, his last Handmaid hung herself and he’s staunch no longer over it” — and how un-stylish their bonnets are. Hiya, it’s higher then eating your rations in silence while crying into your straw bed. Blessed be the fruit, correct?