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My Fifteen Year Old Self

Let me preface this by saying I absolutely love my mother.  She’s the single most amazing person I know.  She’s kind to strangers.  STRANGERS!  I’m rarely kind to people I know, let alone someone I’ve never met.  As much as I love her, sometimes when I go home to visit I feel like a teenager again.  Which would be fine if I had the ass and thighs to go along with teenage-Sarah.  Currently I don’t, hence the problem.  Here are just a few things she said over the weekend to prove my point:

“Why don’t you clean your room while you’re here.”

“What time will you be home?”

“Here’s money to pay for your dinner and the demolition derby.”

“Put your seat belt on.”

“Are you wearing a helmet when you’re on Carl’s bike?”

“Do you want me to french braid your hair?”

“Do you want money for gas?”

“The dress is short, just wear jeans under it.”


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