Climbing Up
I thought once I became an adult, I wouldn’t have to climb any more. Boy, was I wrong.
As a child, I didn’t like to have to ask for things I wanted on the kitchen counter or in my closet, so my parents bought me a little stepping stool. I absolutely loved it. It was red with a poem written on top in large white letters. I can’t remember the exact words, but the poem went something like this: I use this stool to reach things I couldn’t and lots of things I shouldn’t.
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