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Do you also remember the trauma we faced every second Friday? Every second Friday our Dad would pick us up from school so we could stay at his place for the weekend. This meant we had to take The Red Suitcase. It was twice the size of the blue port, made of vinyl. Mum would carefully pack essays my shorts and t-shirt and tootbrush and PJs on the left side, yours on the right. Then she'd essays drop us off at the school gate, and we'd have to lug that monster up the path between us, in essays addition to our regular baggage. Pure evil. Then it would sit there all fucking day in the weather shed, wedged between the blue port and the brown, with all the other kids' backpacks hanging from the coathooks and laughing it up. It just never made sense to me, why she was so insistent on traumatising us. It wasn't like we were poor and couldn't afford modern luggage. I can understand her desire to make her children individuals and not follow the crowd, but there are some occasions where a degree of conformity is necessary for survival.
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