Mostly True Memoirs
The grown but not mature son told me that his friend will be passing through town.
Could I put him up in my spare room?
I said of course.
The grown son asked if I could make a special dinner.
I said of course.
Lasagna?
I said of course.
But, I told him, I’ll need you to go to the store for some things.
The grown son rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance.
Proving that he is grown, but not mature.
Not yet anyway.
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