When my cousins would come over we would have a good time. We’d eat peanut butter and run around the house. I got mad at my cousin once because she ate too much peanut butterand locked her in the closet for a bit to fix her wagon. It was irrational anger because there was plenty to go around.
Then they would have to leave and I was sad when they would have to go. Why do the good times always have to end?
Or do they?
Vote Middleton
