#Chapter37
With an evil grin, I eyed the list I had created out of Daddy's worksheets and my wax crayons. The writing was messy and jumbled but I could still read what it said.
Language.
With a shaky hand, I used my crayon to draw a tiny little tick next to the word.
I had broken that rule first thing this morning. Joel had asked me to wash up my plate. I had dropped it and cut my finger on it. I had cried. Daddy had rinsed it, cleaned it and put a plaster on it and kissed it.
I had then said that the plate was a bitch.
That made Daddy... not happy.
Beneath the word language was the words: respect yourself and others.
With a grin, I ticked that one, too.
I had broken that one only an hour ago. I had told Daddy that he smelt like an armpit's butt and that his feet looked like alien brains.