A journal of narrative writing.
Evolving Adage

You can put a for-sale sign on it or you can give it away for free. Nice girls don’t do that and sometimes we must suffer to be beautiful. That’s not for people like us. They can kiss my ass. When you turn 18, you pay rent in this house. That’s not what a lady does. That isn’t all the way clean. Someday I hope your child talks back like that to you. Those pants (your hair, that skirt) look like the very devil. Eat your peas, please, there are children starving in Africa. I’m so proud of you, and don’t forget to read. Good night, dear, good night. Nice girls suffer for free, especially in Africa, and people like us can just kiss my ass. Someday I hope you’ll be so proud of you. When you see that you look like the devil, you’ll know you’ve passed 18; then you’ll begin to pay the rent for being beautiful. Give it away till you are all the way clean. That’s not what I’d hoped, that you’d have a child who did not talk at all or who could not stop repeating the last phrase of the last thing you said. I’d have given my life to spare you my life, dear. Good night, good night.