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Eight-year-old Ashley was kneeling on the bathroom sink trying to use her mother’s curling iron, but the effect was not turning out the way she had envisioned. “Dammit all to hell,” she muttered to herself.
“Ashley Gander,” said her mother from the next room. “Do I hear you cussin’ in there like trailer trash? Did I raise you to talk like that?”
“I’m by myself!” shouted Ashley.
“I don’t care if you’re standing on top of Mount Everest without a soul to see for miles. You do not use that kind of language in this house. Or anybody else’s house for that matter. And you just keep in mind that every single thing you do and say reflects back on me, and I won’t have it.”
Ashley made a face in the mirror and hopped off the sink. The bathroom was very cramped, so that getting down withou
