My fifteen-year-old daughter Kelsey called me one night. “Mom? I’m at the police station. I got arrested for beating up some bitch who deserved it. Could you bail me out, please?”
No one in my family had ever been arrested for anything. I almost told Kelsey to enjoy rotting in jail, until I realized she’d overcome her timidity. Girls had walked all over her for years; she would cry in her bedroom about it.
After I’d bailed her out, she said “At least that bitch had nice earrings—like, turquoise balls?” I also realized Kelsey had developed some fashion sense.
Written on the spot
Copyright © 2015 by David V. Matthews