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I answered my phone. Did you know there’s pornography on the computer? my mother asked. I closed my laptop. It seemed the decent thing to do.

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The shower brings out the falsetto in me, I sing, handing her the herbal soap. What about that? she asks, pointing at a sensitive part of me.

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Some of the people say dumb things all of the time. I take a pull of beer. And what are you? she asks. Though I thought I’d proven my point.

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And she starts to cry. Half the commercials on tv are meant to make you fat, I say. I squeeze her belly. Look, I say. She cries even harder.

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So this is where you’re going to live, I say and my father sighs and says, I’m not that old. Then he gets out of the car. Fuck you, he says.

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The man on stage asks, How do you define success? and though no one will say it, we know it means being paid to ask inane questions on stage.

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She cooks her eggs runny and that’s the one thing I really hate, like so much, so I start to shake and then my mom says, So move out already.

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I said the things I was warned not to say. I operated in a way not amenable to civilized behavior. This explains why I told her I loved her.

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I told her how I liked to use salad dressing. She called me a pervert. A week later she showed up at my work and said, I’m partial to Ranch.

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I made the mistake again, because it was an easy mistake to make, and because it bugged her and I loved her that much. She always forgave me.

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