The Writer's Voice
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It is the day before you enter seventh grade. You are lost in a coral reef called Wal-Mart, and feeding time is near; sharks and barracudas are poised to attack anyone that dares to grab the purple two-pocket-three-prong folder before they get to it. Before you can let yourself get pulled out by the tide, Mother asks if you need anything besides school supplies.
"Yes, I need new underwear. Pick out a package and meet me in the pen and pencil aisle."
Now that Mom has the embarrassing task of picking out undergarments, you are free to get a Garfield spiral notebook. All is well... until a faint voice calls out your name somewhere between crayons and glue. "Is this your size? Do you like these colors?"
Sure enough, your mother is waving a package of Hanes-Her-Way in all its floral glory. The entire aisle joins you in a cringe of horror and utter humiliation. Tail tucked firmly between your legs, you begin the walk down Death Row, all eyes fixed as if they witnessed you punching a nun. Mother has not yet noticed your pride lying crumpled and charred on the linoleum.
School starts tomorrow.
Welcome to the most embarrassing day in my life.
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