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It Happened to Me: Guilty as Charged

Beth Firestone

My name is Shuey Gravitzky. Well, not really. I’m changing all names to protect the guilty. Yes, that’s right. Guilty, as charged.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

boyI woke up Monday morning, determined to “make it a great day” as my dad is so fond of saying. I had gotten all of my stuff together the night before, and I went to bed on time. I had my mom wake me early, and I made it to the kitchen with plenty of time to spare. This is all stuff I’ve been “working on” lately. I’ve got a deal with my parents. If they see improvement, I get to buy a RipStik.

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my sister, Leah, enjoying homemade waffles.

“Five minute warning,” my mother said. “Shuey don’t forget to brush your teeth and get your shoes on.”

I stuffed in the last bite, then headed for my bedroom. Things went downhill from there. My shoes weren’t anywhere in sight. Frantically, I embarked on my search. I looked under pillows strewn on the floor (oops I forgot to make my bed), I looked in the closet (where they should be), I searched under my bed, and behind the door (oh, there’s my baseball glove.) My mother was not going to be happy. Quietly, I expanded my search to every room in the house.

“Okay, time to go. Shuey.” My mother hurried out of the kitchen. When she saw I was shoeless, she scowled. “Where are your shoes?”

“Uh, well,” I tried to think of something, anything, expect the truth.

 

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