JOURNAL OF A WHORE
It was on a bright weekend early afternoon.
As I remained there ringing the doorbell tenderly, somebody pulled my pants.
"Mom, mom, convey me." Cried a minuscule sharp voice.
I really wanted no heavenly messenger to let me know what its identity was. Obviously, it was the voice of my three years of age little girl. If by some stroke of good luck she knew how chaotic it was lifting her up as she had put on a ton of weight as of late. Perhaps more than her age mates however at that point, a mother's affection wouldn't allow me to overlook the little one, regardless of whether I needed to.
"Great sky," I murmured, feigned exacerbation, and scooped her up in my arms.
