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THE PERFECT FAMILY

As I have grown older into just another bat shit crazy old bitch, old slut, old whatever as none of it bothers me, no one could hurt me before my son died, much less now, with words. Why? Because I know me. Better, I know you. I know you better than you know you.

I ran with your fathers. Gulp. I was the same woman then as I am now, I didn’t care how much you had, or what you thought about yourself, if you hurt me, or hit me, or in one case put me in the hospital and had your lawyer, one Walter Smith on hand to make it go away.

Now I see people who think that under Trump everything is fine, and the rest of the non inheriting, legacy, graduated from Baylor, or another college, not as fine. Shall we stop for a moment and tell you that the Baylor look down on the non Baylor and put you in that “not from here” second rate category.

That’s who they are. That’s who they are and everyone, “not from here” and from here, want to run with that pack.

The highest of the high and mighty who friended their neighbor’s wife while sleeping with her rich husband, in a quest for the most money in town, with success, and the help of their own mother.

Now we have the great humanitarians of inheritance here turning to Trump and how wonderful and fruitful these four years have been. See, the basic thing here is the morphing of the bullshit into the mystical and justified, the “God gave us the money” sect.

This is the danger. This thought. This idea that the rest of us are here to serve at your table and be extras in your movie of successful and wealthy life.

This is fine and okay with me to an extent. I know you and you know me, or maybe you don’t. I am the woman who is held to a higher standard. I have to walk in with papers proving what I say.

I’m fine with you and your successes but I am not feeling any humility here. I see no compassion in you, no remembering of how your father bounced your mother off the walls, no remembering of who you were before you became another caged political animal in a small place.

I remember checks in mail boxes and diamond bracelets and kind hearted people who didn’t have to help you. Confused? Maybe you aren’t the only one. Maybe I know all of you and despite my happiness and pride, and sympathy for you I have sat and been happy although without money or position am easily forgotten. Definitely not fashionable, however, don’t awaken the sleeping giant who has it in writing.

“put it in writing and fear no man”

“don’t put it in writing and fear no woman”

There’s nothing you can do to me, the bubble around me is plexi glass, the one around you is soap and floats in the wind.

I see no heart in you anymore.

I see you become the most dreaded creature, one of “Them.”

H

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