mother I am so glad you do not read the newspapers it would kill you to see what the world is now soon I will be out, colder and wiser out and free to cut my own crusts (diagonally, of course) out and still I will not step on any cracks out from under your glorious red umbrella your kitchen table and the hat you made me wear to school the one that was itchy but that's not your fault it kept me warm all the same.