I feel terrible about this. I really do. I rip the kitchen apart. I pull out every dish and every cup I can find. I throw pots and pans on the floor. Just as Millie arrives, I’m getting to the refrigerator. Growing up, I was responsible for my fair share of chores, and it’s physically painful for me to take a milk carton and throw it on the ground, letting the milk spill out everywhere. But I force myself. Means to an end. When Millie enters the kitchen, I turn around and look at her accusingly.
This is so sad
