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Read preview"Tell me about your day," I lobbed to my 15-year-old son, hoping my command for details would prevent his customary "It was fine."
My son, my baby, my secretly favorite child, couldn't even bear 10 minutes of talking?
The Littlest Bear, a small pudge of brown fur, asks his mom in a slight peep, "Am I your favorite?"
Yes, my son is breaking up with me, exactly as he is supposed to do.
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