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My Daughter Slept in a Coffin at the Slumber Party
But the silence was glorious
Because I’m not carrying enough, my daughter wedges a sheet of glitter-bathed cardstock into the gap between my head and my shoulder where I’ve dropped my phone precariously into my fanny pack. “When is the party?” I ask, buying myself time to remember which one of the toothless twerps is Evie, the one who stole my daughter’s Pokémon or the one who kicked her in the head during the great monkey bar turf war. I chat awkwardly with Evie’s mom for a bit before leaving my number and handing over my daughter’s bag of sleepover essentials: a regular pillow, Nathan — her emoji pillow, Lulu — her eye mask, stuffies Rita, Mia and Bow, fidgets, Jibbitz for trading, possibly a pair of underwear and maybe a toothbrush and pepper spray.
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