So, I suggested/cajoled my daughter into reading Flowers in the Attic over vacation this year. She’s about to turn 13, so I thought she was old enough for this tawdry rite of passage.
She wasn’t going to read it at all until she mentioned it in front of all her aunts and their faces went “oh my god” so she knew it was gonna be good.
This morning, she staggers up stairs and announces she was finished.
“Well,” I ask, “What did you think?”
“I’m glad I don’t have any siblings.”
This doesn’t make me a bad mom, right?