It had been a hard year for your family - debt had piled up from a series of medical emergencies that had all three of you busting your asses at work to help pay it off. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it hadn't come soon enough to let your mother make your birthday as big of a thing as she wanted to. She had been pretty up front about it. All you were getting was this cake. You were fine with that, of course, but there was a part of you that couldn't help but be disappointed.You make your wish, blow out the candles, cut the cake, and resume talking at length with your family members.Elizabeth, or Lizzie as your aunt called her, is your mother. Five foot eight, dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a sweet smile, she had been a rock for you and your sister ever since your dad just up and left. The stress had packed on a couple of extra pounds, but she wears it where it counts, giving her a curvy figure that showed no matter what she wore. She wasn't exactly a prude, but. He wrote fight or flight fight or flight fight or flight over and over again, filling up the page. “What’s wrong with him?” Chris watched the old man mindlessly scribble in his notebook. He looked back at Donna. “Say, Miss Farmer was it? You’re real pretty.”“Mrs. Farmer.” Donna was terrified. She had no idea what was happening to her or her husband. Mark, the man of action, was suddenly rendered inert. She broke out in a cold sweat.“Real, real pretty.” Chris stood up and pulled his basketball jersey off and dropped it on the table. He pointed a finger at his shorts. “See my teepee lady? I’ve got an angry Indian I want to show you.”“No.” Donna clutched the edge of the table with both hands, her knuckles turning white. Whatever he had in his shorts was immense. “Stay seated young man.” But she didn’t want him to stay seated. She wanted to see what could make such a large teepee. She hated herself for it, but she wanted to see his angry Indian. “Here it is.” Chris dropped his shorts and.
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