It was a bad day in suburbia.
My politician father left my perfectly permed mother hanging for their dinner date. Under my mattress hid my D-ridden report card and I slipped into a new dress. You took me to dinner and I spilled cheese and diet coke in my lap, and my brother saw me and smiled deviously because he knew I was grounded. We went bowling and you put the bumpers up so I could avoid every gutter ball. When the tenth frame came, my score was only 52.
Sometimes losing feels a little better when you haven’t been set up to win.
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