Which Reminds Me

Someone is waiting for me to ask why it is that the CIA would grant such legitimacy to these snarky Italian mafia con artists whose sole purpose in life seems to have been to play dirty tricks on me behind my back during high school. Who do I think I am anyway? I am just not that important. Of course I can't ever really imagine or ask these questions, let alone answer them. The deck is stacked against me from the get-go so I just have to get along as best I can with whatever I am doing and not worry about what some other clueless blondes might think about me, not that I cared. I don't remember what I might have said about those haughty arrogant embassy brats who are so proud of their commissary rights, something that me, a meek and lowly missionary kid, could only dream of. I just have to content myself with knowing that four years from now our family will return to the United States and only then will I be able to buy Hershey bars off the shelf.