"It's best to die happy, but it's nice to live happily as well. So I'm afraid the girls are going to have to go fetch that boy in the hall before he bleeds out all over my new paper cutter."As a avid scrapbooker,Mrs.Bobble's way of life depended on her paper cutters.Her daughters took the injuredboy to the dining room to avoid blood spatters onthecutter. The scrapbooks Mrs. Bobble made were quite something. Full of scandalous, adult, very PG 45+ images, they made all the other housewives's scrapbooks look like child's play. I was only 37 so Mom & I looked at Mrs. Bobble's scrapbook together. "What's he doing?" "Trying to empty his bladder." "Hm. And…OMG!" "Yes, that's what old people look like naked." "Err... No mom, thats actually a shrivelled prune. Naked old dude is here." I said as I pointed at the picture in the scrapbook. "Alas, my vision has frayed," she cried like Shakes pears' unwilling barber."Mom",I said calmly,"relax.And take off the blindfold."She obeyed."Holy christ,I can see!Hallelujah!"I smacked her twice,then returned to my scrapbook. I pasted her picture with my trusty gluestick. I've had it for several years. It had one sole purpose, and once I've healed the victim, the picture goes in the book. But could I heal myself? Or would my album of repaired people remain free of my photograph? I looked again at the picture of the woman who broke my heart, and knew at once that she was me. I was her. I was she. And she was a narcissist. I looked at her in the mirror &held up the photo. She smiled. I smiled back. I felt better. But then she tore my photo and shaved her head with my llama clippers as I watched, horrified. "You're not the boss of me," she said. "Don't know you, and don't want to know you. Go ahead, break the mirror."

 

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