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Fightball: Dying of Suck … The greatest story of sisterhood ever told. Now with free hyperbole!
Fightball: Dying of Suck
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Kallan arrives home from school dejected. “You remember the United Nations project we’re doing in History? The one where I have to choose a country and a topic and write a huge research paper?”
“We drew numbers to pick our countries and topics, and I got number one.”
“That’s good, right?”
She shakes her head. “No, he went backward from thirty.”
“So that’s bad.”
She throws herself onto the couch. “By the time I got up there, all that was left was Somalia.”
“So you’ll do your paper on Somalia. That’s not so bad.”
“Plus child trafficking.”
“That was the topic left, so it’s mine. Everything else was already taken.”
“Right? Prostitution, forced labor, use in the drug trade or military … that’s all mine.”
“Well, not as much yours as if you were one of the children in question, but I get your point.”
Kallan sighs. “So then he had us all break into groups and discuss our plans for the research projects, and everyone else got better topics and better countries than I did, and every time I started talking about my country and my topic, everybody was all crinkled noses of horror asking, ‘Why did you sign up for that?’”
I hand her a string cheese as she flops dramatically off of the couch and rolls onto the ground. “You’ll get through it.”
“And then my teacher came by and was all helpful, and he said, ‘You could focus your efforts on the issue of sex trafficking.’”
“And everyone kept crinkling their noses and saying, ‘Ewww … why did you sign up for that?’” She pulls a slender thread of cheese free from the stick. “I finally had to make a general announcement.”
She clears her throat. “I told them, ‘Don’t be stupid. NOBODY SIGNS UP FOR SEX TRAFFICKING IN SOMALIA.’”
She rolls on the floor to stare up at me, “What?”
“Nobody signs up for sex trafficking in Somalia.”
“I know, Mom … that’s what I said.” She lies on the floor and eats her string cheese in ridiculous contemplative fashion for a moment, and then she says, “Oh, speaking of people doing things against their will … I meant to tell you.”
“Daddy and Maj and I were talking to Grandpa the other day on the phone, and Grandpa was totally acting like you’re some sort of rabid beast Daddy has finally managed to get into a cage and domesticate.”
Wait … what?
And so I say, “Wait … what?”
10 thoughts on “I meant to tell you”
We need to hang out in real life – just one time. Because I adore you and your family, and I meant to tell you …
I don’t see you as the rabid beast in this dynamic. Not one bit
Seriously, although apparently … opinions vary.
Yes, of course this is a topic that a young schoolgirl should be encouraged to write about. What?
I know, right? The world is coming for us all.
“NOBODY SIGNS UP FOR SEX TRAFFICKING IN SOMALIA!!”
I’m dead. There are no words to counter that!
You … get … me.
That is all.
I’m behind on my reading again. It must be senility.
It must, I swore some child was screaming about signing up for sec trafficking in Somalia.
And then she caged a rabid beast.
Oh. And you don’t need to wait.
Thanks kindle for autocorrecting me. Therefore proving I’m too senile to spellcheck myself.
Join the club.
You make me giggle into my coffee.
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