Sometimes I'm simply at a loss to explain things. L came up to me this morning to show her new hair accouterments. "She braided me these before she died," she told me. "She maded them long.""I don't follow," I said, confused, "Who made those?"
"Mommy."
"Mommy died?"
"Yes. She's never coming back. She's already got another child."
I can't even begin to guess where Freud would take this...
Meanwhile Stacy wishes to assure everyone that reports of her passing have been greatly exaggerated.
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