Shout it out

I used to have a reputation for saying ex-actly what was on my mind. For effect my hand twisted up to the sky and my shoulders would do a sort of mini left and right “did-she-just-do-a-half-a-shimmee?” You can perfect something like that when you’re ten.
I lost it for a while, but now it’s back. A thirteen year old took me down last Friday–yelling and shrieking and carrying on about how she was going to do this and she was going to do that if I didn’t snap to it. She had no idea she was talking to a silver tongued, fire spitting 10 year old in a 48 year old who wears no make up suit.
After a quick few days of going mute, I have effectively let it rip. I have written letters to the New York Times regarding their misuse of who and whom, to a school principal regarding the ridiculous all mixed up in his decision to keep a small part of the fourth grade class from singing in their end of the year concert, and I probably would have had something to say to my poor mother, but she has retired from the Complaints Department.
I may not cook dinner.

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