27th November 2003, the wee hours | Comments (16)
My parents are good people. They’ve always looked after my brother and I, made sure we had the best of everything (or the worst, depending on which character trait they were building in us that week), and they’ve always backed us in all that we did.
I used to think of them as well-rounded people, more interested in our happiness than how we’re fairing in the rat race. But recently I’ve noticed a mercenary glint in my mother’s eye…
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