My parents home burned down several years ago and what few pictures of me that even existed. I was the last child and my mother had long lost her desire to document her children's lives.

My aunt recently mailed me a picture I'd never seen.  Nasty house shoes and dirty face aside, the disgruntled look on my face clearly indicates I did NOT appreciate being interrupted from the very important phone call I was about to make on my pink phone.


Next time family and friends crack their jokes about the perpetual phone in my hand (there are calluses, people), I'm going to show them this picture. I can hardly be blamed for addiction someone started when I was too young to realize the implications.

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