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Every little thing in each place. Completely conformed to the standards she set for the object. I would spill my juice as a kid, she would explode. She would scream for at least eleven minutes and tear at her hair a bit. She did not scare me though. I was glad, that I could appreciate books and pudding cups and sweaters scattered on a carpet floor. I didn’t sigh in frustration when abstract art wasn’t symmetrical. I wasn’t like mom.

Posted By Yaline On 03.02.2011 @ 2:40 pm