Rhonda would like nothing better than to be back outside in her front yard, cupping a deliciously cold bowl of frozen yogurt in her lanky fingers. Her limbs, growing longer by the day, longed to be stretched, ached for the bruises and scrapes that come naturally when loving nature. But she was being forced to sit. Quietly. Inside. And she was upset. Her mother, a beautiful woman—when she was being nice to Rhonda—laughed at her. She was growing older. She barely fit on the couch. She couldn't act like a petulant child for much longer. Rhonda thought "petulant" sounded like "pitiful" and she felt it was a good word to describe how she felt. She tried out the word "petulant" in her mouth. Rhonda gave her mother the silent treatment. She was learning a new word and resented her mother for making her learn when she should be outside eating yogurt and climbing trees. Rhonda loved her mother more than the world, but she hated her mother more than anything right then.

Key words: couch, petulance

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