The Hostage

Many of you seem to think that the parents can’t really be as bad as I make them out to be. “Surely,” you say, “this must all just be some sort of misunderstanding.” Very well, I will present you with the facts, and you may draw your own conclusions.

I have a faithful little duck. He is small and yellow, and always shows up when I take a bath. On his bottom are the letters H-O-T. He doesn’t say much, but I know I can count on him and we’ve grown quite close.

I never gave much thought to where he went after bath time. I guess I just assumed he went back to his little duck family. I wish I had never discovered the truth. You can imagine my horror when, as I was innocently exploring the cabinets under the bathroom sink, I found him trapped there in the dark. I couldn’t imagine why he was there. Maybe he’d been looking in the cabinets too, and the door accidentally closed on him. Naturally, I set him free. How could I leave my good friend in such a state?

The next day, I found him locked up under the sink again. I tried to free him, but Mommy stopped me. “Leave the ducky in there, Miranda,” she said. I protested, but she was unrelenting. However, I am more agile and clever than the parents. I grabbed my friend and ran for it. Unfortunately, Mommy eventually trapped me. She grabbed duck and put him right back under the sink, then carried me away.

You tell me. Are the parents really as bad as I have said?

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