Those kids down at the end with “Espresso” pumping out the Bluetooth speaker clipped to their cart could be playing “Watermelon Sugar” or “Uptown Funk” or even—god, that summer we bought the house—“Happy.” You couldn’t escape “Happy” that year.
“Our daughter,” I hiss, “is not going to grow up without a father because you wanted to pop the hood and look at the engine! I am not going to be a single parent because you wanted to do performative macho bullshit!”
This bitch is s s oooo dramatic I hate her
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