Manipulation

Behind the White Coat

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Your child may have free dress on Tuesday for spring pictures but only if you are purchasing a picture package.

“Mommy!” Long shuddering sob. “We want free dress today!” My son was crying big huge tears.

I was hoping I could avoid the whole discussion, just ignore it and sneak them to school in uniforms, but apparently it had been emphasized at school the day before.

If you come to school in your uniform you are being left out! You are a lame loser. Your parents suck.

So that THIS could happen. Hysterics in the kitchen.

“Please, mommy?!?!??” My daughter’s eyes were welling up, too, as she looked up at me, hopeful. “I want to wear a dress! Please?!?!?” Then the screech. You know the one. The shattering glass, maximum ear pain kind of scream.

$22 for the cheapest package. Times two. So they don’t have to wear the uniforms…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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