My mother calls me "Benny" or "Boo-Boo" or "Baby Girl." My family calls me "Tootsie" or "Tallulah." My friends call me "Gen," "Genny," "Gen-Gen," "Harrison," "Fred," "Little One" or "Shortie." Whenever I introduce myself to someone new, they always say to me, "What an unusual name -- you don't hear that very often," and I think to myself, "No kidding."
This trashy tale starts with breakfast. Pour the last bowl of cereal. Tear off the box top worth 10 cents to the school. Fold the carton and put in the bag of mixed paper. Place the empty milk jug in the blue bin. Repeat the drill for lunch and dinner. Sort mail between bills and recyclable junk. Save the yogurt containers for the friend who turns them into class party favors. "Don't throw away that empty toilet paper roll! It may be on the school's requested art supply list." We don't need a trash can. We need a recycle room.
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