porn, super porn
I'm here to keep my eye on her
2004-03-08 | 9:49 p.m.

After picking up Sam-the-Changling from school, we went to Costco. I can raise Sam in a satisfactory kind of way, but it takes a village to feed her. Whereas I rarely remember to eat, Sam never forgets, and she often plows through a box of cereal in just two days. We never have any milk. When I make french toast, she can easily tuck in twelve pieces with comfort. On the way to our car with two carts filled with all kinds of bulky things, Sam is cheerful, talking at the top of her sunny voice, running, whirling around, singing at the top of her lungs, addressing perfect strangers. She is herself. As she's tossing things into the car and squashing the bread with the milk, a big and burly and bearded man that passed us in the parking lot drives by, rolls down his window, and says in an exceptionally rude voice: "get that kid on ritalin or something." I am perfectly flabbergasted at this. Sam laughed. "He can go fuck himself," she said, promptly crushing our blueberries with a box of Cheerios. I wish she wouldn't use language like that.

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