When I was 6 years old my mother gave me to a psychopath who I’ve named pigman. That sentence alone is bad, real bad, but true to form my mother had to up the ante. Simply putting me in the truck and dropping me off wasn’t enough for her, no that would have lacked the level of sadistic cruelty she craved. Instead my mother told me we were going to Disneyland and foolishly my 6 year old self believed her. She took me to Mervyn’s and I was allowed to pick out one new outfit and a pink princess suitcase for the magical adventure at Disneyland. I remember being so excited and overwhelmed by the pretty dresses, I’d never owned anything new much less pretty. I remember pushing my face into the clothes rack, I wanted to know what ‘new’ smelled like. Up until this point I had worn dirty clothes that had holes, I was lucky to get a meal and almost always had lice, disgusting I know. I loved the price tags on the dresses and how it meant you were special or worthy; I felt rich, like a princess. I picked a dress that I thought a princess would wear, pink satin ruffles with glitter and pink patent leather shoes to match.
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