Herself (running late, rushing out of the house): Do you think I need my gloves today?
Me: Yes, it’s freezing, you’ll be perished on the bike.
Her (testily, turning back upstairs to hunt for gloves): Well, on your head be it, it will be your fault, if I’m late for school.
a mother’s place is in the wrong …
You have to love your daughter, maybe not a job in politics, just a hunch.
TM, yes, it is. Charles, on the contrary…