Sure, Sammy “Socks Don’t Match” Larson had started at the bottom, and the top still seemed 3 Graham Crackers and 2 juice boxes away, an eternity in toddler time. He started the usual way, dealing the bologna for a PBandJ, stockpiling the blue crayons in his cubby and blackmailing for a shot a the glitter glue. Eventually he caught the eye of The Dadfather, and before long he was getting the primo pudding cups and sitting too close to the TV. But was this as far as he would go? He had burned his bridges with Mama Mama after the smart remarks about broccoli and the “Dadfather always lets me” attitude. And lately even the Dadfather seemed exasperated with the constant asking about the possibility of moving to the front seat of the car. He had heard something about being “taken to the plastic mattresses” , and waking up the other day with head of Buzz Lightyear resting on his Cat in the Hat pillow next to him in his toddler bed was as powerful a warning as the time he……Oh, who am I kidding, this whole riff was based solely on the purchase of a new pleather jacket Sams Mom bought him.
The court house stairs, Prescott, Arizona USA.
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