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I was an angry child, i had fought, bitten screamed and broken things in the past, so being called to the principal usually meant i had done something, and was in trouble.
I got up to walk to door, my mind already prepared to walk into that office, smell my mother's perfume (Chypre by Coty)and menthol, see her face with her lips pulled to thin stripes, signaling her rage.
She would ask,
"What did it do this time" she always referred to me as it*.

(This does not really translate well)