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He didn’t like my pudding, and he didn’t like my cake. My biscuits were too hard, not like his mother used to make. I didn’t perk the coffee, and I didn’t make the stew, I didn’t mend his socks like his mother used to do. As I pondered for an answer, I was looking for a clue. So I turned and boxed his ears, like his mother used to do.
sent in by Myra, February 2007author unknown
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