![]() "Good morning to you, too, Mother," I say before walking down the stairs and giving her a peck on the cheek. "And that noise you call music was giving me a headache. "Hate the pants, love the belt," Mom says, pointing her index finger at each item. I think that's why my dad goes to work before she gets up in the morning, so he doesn't have to deal with, well, her. And when my mom is stressed, everyone living with her suffers. ![]() Not the kind easily controlled with little blue pills. But you haven't lived in the Ellis house. ![]() ![]() I'm eighteen and shouldn't care what my mom thinks. My mom is standing at the bottom of our grand staircase, scanning my outfit. Finally getting it right, I toss the eyeliner tube on the counter, double and triple check myself in the mirror, turn off my stereo, and hurry down the hallway. ![]()
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