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Ursula F. McCurdy, 6830 W 135th Street, Overland Park, KS (2026)

09/05/2026

My daughter wanted a home, and I wanted to give her the world. When she had my first grandson five years ago, she and her husband were entirely priced out of the housing market. They couldn't scrape together a down payment, let alone qualify for a mortgage.

They were exhausted, trying to raise a newborn in a noisy apartment. I had just decided to move to a quieter city a few hours away. My old house was a spacious four-bedroom property in a highly desirable tourist region.

I could have listed it, sparked a bidding war, and walked away with a massive retirement cushion. Instead, I sold it to my child for a fraction of its market value, bypassing the banks to finance it myself. We agreed on a fifteen-year payment plan with zero interest.

I essentially handed them a life they could never have afforded, saving them hundreds of thousands of dollars. Because this was a massive financial asset, I had a lawyer draft an airtight contract. The title remains in my name, only transferring to them once the final payment is cleared.

I only put one major stipulation in the paperwork. Twice a year, for two or three days, I get to use the ground-floor guest room. I visit on the exact same dates every year: for my elderly aunt's birthday, and for an annual city festival.

I have a severe, chronic spinal condition, and that guest room has a specialized orthopedic mattress I bought myself. I never overstay my welcome, I buy the groceries when I visit, and I treat their space with absolute respect. For five years, this arrangement worked perfectly.

My daughter had two more children during that time. I love being a grandmother, and I've always tried to be the supportive parent who steps back. But earlier this week, I called her to finalize my travel plans for the upcoming festival.

The line went strangely quiet. She casually mentioned that her six-year-old had decided he wanted his own space. Because of that, they had moved him into my designated room permanently, and my expensive mattress had been thrown out.

I sat there in stunned silence, asking where I was supposed to sleep. She told me I could either sleep on a cheap inflatable air mattress on the playroom floor, or book a hotel in town. In a tourist destination during peak season, a hotel would cost me an absurd amount of money.

She knows sleeping on a plastic floor mattress would leave me in paralyzing pain for weeks. When I asked if she was planning to cover the hotel cost since she was breaking our agreement, she audibly scoffed.

She said absolutely not, claiming she shouldn't have to subsidize my vacation. I explained how disrespectful it was to blindside me when we had a legally binding arrangement. I reminded her of the massive financial favor I was doing them by acting as their interest-free bank.

Her tone immediately turned sharp. She told me her reality had changed with three kids, and I was being unreasonable to expect her to keep a room empty. Then she raised her voice, stating clearly that it was her house and she could decide who slept where.

I reminded her that the house is still legally in my name. She yelled that I was holding a piece of paper over her head to manipulate her family, told me to figure out my own sleeping arrangements, and hung up on me.

09/05/2026

I have a sixteen year old grandson who's been living with my husband and me for the last five and a half months. Last week we appeared in court where it became official after the judge chose to let my grandson decide for himself. My daughter is furious and she's been this way since he first came to stay with us.

I know she's angry we didn't send him back to her. There have been a number of fights about this and I know she feels like we, as parents, let her down, and maybe we did. I feel like we did right by our grandson but potentially at the cost of our daughter, and I have sadness if that's true.

Let me explain how we ended up here. My daughter was a single mom to her son for the first five years of his life. His dad is a deadbeat who decided he didn't want to be in the life of his child.

My daughter and my grandson lived with us until he was two and then they moved out because she was capable of supporting them both. When my grandson was four she met her husband, and when my grandson was five they moved in together and got married.

My daughter's husband had a son who was six when they moved in together. With the boys being so young and close in age, the assumption was they'd be close, and my daughter and her husband decided to raise the boys as brothers and to discourage the use of step. They didn't think it would be difficult.

While my grandson did see his stepbrother as just his brother, the same wasn't true for my step-grandson. He's rejected any kind of decent or halfway decent relationship with my grandson. He doesn't count him as being part of his family, he rejects even the stepbrother title, he refused to play with him, refused to be friendly or kind, and he bullied him for years.

There was a hard line drawn and it was a line my step-grandson never let up on. My grandson did love his stepbrother and wanted to make it work, but that was one sided. My daughter and her husband encouraged my grandson to keep trying and they encouraged my step-grandson to accept my grandson, but they attempted many things to help the relationship along and it only made things worse.

My grandson has always felt a great deal of hurt because of this rejection. His self-esteem has been low for years and he never understood why his stepbrother hated him so much. He told me that it felt like even saying hi to his stepbrother was enough to make his stepbrother mad.

His stepbrother didn't want him in the same room, didn't want him standing too close or sitting next to him. On vacations my step-grandson expected my grandson to sleep in the bathroom instead of the bedroom they shared. He'd lock him out of shared spaces both at home and on vacation, and he locked him out of the house when my daughter and her husband weren't home as well.

They were in family therapy for about three years. My grandson found it more hurtful because every time my step-grandson spoke it was to reject him more, to insult him more, or to express more anger at him. The therapy didn't help at all.

My grandson started increasing his time at our house when he was thirteen and he used to say he'd like to live with us. My daughter always dismissed it and she dismissed the idea of him having sleepovers with us too. She told me she didn't want him to crave our house more and she felt he was spending too much time here.

We'd talked over the years about how bad it was for my grandson to live with daily rejection. She never wanted me to interfere and I didn't want to lose my grandson or my daughter, so I tried to support without angering anyone.

But a few weeks after my grandson's sixteenth birthday, he asked to stay with us and after talking it out with him we said yes. My daughter said no but my grandson moved his stuff into our house and refused to go back.

My daughter told us we needed to make him go back but he was miserable and he said the house was more hostile than ever because his stepbrother brought friends over who treated him badly too. The final straw for my grandson was his stepbrother having those friends sleep over while my daughter and her husband were out, and those seventeen year olds locked him out of the house until two in the morning when my daughter and her husband returned. It was raining, my grandson had nothing to keep him warm or protected from the rain, and his phone was inside the house.

Of course I knew my daughter would be angry with us. I don't regret giving my grandson a place where he feels safe and cared for and comfortable. But I'm aware I went against her wishes and she is his mother. Am I wrong?

09/05/2026

Raising a child in the current economy feels like a constant exercise in managing disappointment, and I try my hardest to make sure my son feels the weight of that as little as possible. He's a sweet, observant eight-year-old in the third grade who finally found a solid group of friends this year.

His birthday is next weekend, and for months he has been talking about having a party at a local indoor trampoline park. I looked up the group rates, and the reality of the math hit me hard. The venue charges thirty dollars per child, and his homeroom has twenty-eight students.

Inviting the entire class would cost me nearly a thousand dollars, which is money I simply do not have. So we compromised. We agreed to host his core group—nine boys he plays with at recess.

Pizza, arcade tokens, and a couple of hours of jumping, just him and his actual friends. I bought a cheap pack of invitations. We filled them out together and tucked them into his homework folder.

I gave him the standard parent lecture before he zipped his backpack: pass them out quietly, do it during free time, and don't make a big spectacle out of it. He nodded, completely understanding the assignment. I assumed that was the end of it, right up until the afternoon school bell rang.

Our elementary school uses a highly regimented carline system for pickup. You pull up, display your placard, and a teacher walks your kid to your bumper. I was idling in the queue when his homeroom teacher stepped off the curb.

She spotted my car, crossed her arms, and gave me a sharp, tight-lipped wave, gesturing for me to pull into a visitor parking spot. Every parent knows that wave. I put the car in park, feeling a knot form in my chest, and walked over to where she was standing by the chain-link fence.

She launched right into telling me that she had confiscated something from my son during the afternoon block. I apologized, assuming he had been distracted or passing notes. But she wasn't annoyed about him not paying attention.

She was upset about what he was handing out. She told me it was completely unacceptable for my son to distribute birthday invitations if he wasn't going to provide one for every single student. She explained that he had handed them out during his math period, because that was when most of his friends were seated near him.

I tried to keep my tone light. I explained the financial reality, telling her that I would love to include everyone, but I couldn't afford to pay for thirty children to attend a party.

She didn't soften at all. She informed me that if I couldn't afford a full-class party, my son shouldn't be celebrating on school grounds at all. She said they have students who don't get to have birthdays, and it was deeply unfair to subject those children to the disappointment of watching others receive envelopes they wouldn't get.

I stood my ground, stating it was not my financial responsibility to manage the happiness of the entire classroom. She glared at me, her voice dropping into a harsh, punitive register, stating that parents like me make her job impossible.

09/04/2026

I have two grandchildren who bring endless joy to my life, one being seven and the other just five. The older child is the daughter of my daughter, and I'll admit I have more frequent access to her. However, despite what my son's girlfriend accuses me of, I don't have a favorite child.

The seven-year-old participates in beauty pageants on the weekends, which might seem controversial to some. They're her own choice, as she saw pictures of her mother and me doing them, and begged to be included. She also spends a considerable amount of time riding horses at a local stable.

When you combine the costs of the pageants and horseback riding, the financial commitment becomes quite expensive. I'm the one who pays for all of it, without ever asking their parents for a dime. I've offered this support freely, and I am endlessly happy to provide these opportunities for my granddaughter.

On the other side of the family, my son's girlfriend is morally opposed to pageants and holds a deep fear of horses. Her five-year-old has repeatedly asked to do exactly what her cousin does, but she isn't allowed to participate. Instead, the younger girl plays tee ball and takes music lessons during the week.

Just like with the older child, I cheerfully pay for the younger girl's tee ball fees and her music lessons. It's true that these two activities are significantly cheaper than the high costs associated with beauty pageants and equestrian training. The other day, my son's girlfriend brought up this perceived difference in spending and boldly accused me of showing favoritism.

I immediately defended myself and told her it isn't favoritism, because I gladly pay for two activities for both girls. She wasn't satisfied with that explanation and insisted that my financial choices are going to give her daughter a complex. She then demanded that I need to even the money off between the two grandchildren.

She told me I should calculate the difference and put the remaining funds directly into a savings account for her daughter. My husband and I couldn't contain ourselves and burst out laughing right in her face. We honestly found that to be the most ridiculous suggestion we have ever heard.

She didn't appreciate our amused reaction and immediately stormed out of our house in a huff. My son later reached out and suggested I should post this story online to get some outside perspective. He admitted he's feeling conflicted about the whole situation, mainly because he seems afraid of his girlfriend.

I can't believe I am entertaining this drama, but her constant nagging has started to wear down my patience. We've always tried to be generous grandparents without keeping a strict tally of every dollar spent. I simply want to nurture their interests without being treated like a personal bank account.

My intention was never to create a divide, yet I won't be bullied into handing over cash to appease her insecurities. Both girls get to enjoy two wonderful hobbies that they love, and I am the one footing the bill. Am I wrong?

09/04/2026

My fiancée and I met in nursing school, pulling twelve-hour clinical shifts that bonded us before we even went on a first date. She is the most grounded, level-headed person I have ever known.

That was a lifeline for me, because I grew up in a house where chaos was the only language anyone spoke, and every minor disagreement was an exhausting battle. I keep my parents and my extended family at a very deliberate distance.

We talk maybe twice a year, and I prefer it that way. There is a lot of history I won't drag into the light, but the short version is that my uncles and my older brothers are walking disasters.

They are the kind of people who turn every family gathering into a screaming match or a competition over money. Cutting ties with them was the best thing I ever did for my own peace of mind.

When it came time to plan our wedding, my fiancée and I were in complete agreement. We were paying for every single flower, every plate of food, and every rented chair out of our own savings.

We didn't want my parents' money, because money from them always comes with a heavy leash attached. We wanted a quiet, peaceful day surrounded by our friends and the chosen family who actually support us.

Initially, we weren't going to invite my parents at all. We planned to just send them an announcement after the fact.

But somehow, word filtered back to them that we were engaged. My mother called me on a Tuesday night, crying into the receiver, begging to be included.

My dad got on the phone and promised they would be on their absolute best behavior. He said it would break their hearts to miss watching me get married.

It is incredibly hard to listen to your own parents beg for a place in your life. I talked it over with my fiancée, and we agreed to a compromise.

I told my parents they could come, but under one absolute, non-negotiable condition. They were not to tell my brothers, my uncles, or a single other person in the extended family.

They could not add anyone to our guest list. I told them if I even smelled a hint of my brothers showing up, venue security would turn everyone away.

They swore up and down they wouldn't breathe a word. They promised they understood the boundaries and were just grateful for the olive branch.

I wanted to believe them. I really, genuinely did.

But I spent eighteen years living under their roof, and I know exactly how their promises work. They have a compulsive need to show off to the rest of the family, and they have never respected a boundary they couldn't find a loophole for.

I knew with absolute certainty that if I gave them the real time and location, half my estranged relatives would show up uninvited, looking for an open bar. So I didn't give them the real details.

09/04/2026

I'm a first grade teacher at a private school where tuition is upwards of thirty thousand dollars per year. My daughter is a preschool teacher who recently finished her first year as an assistant to get her required credits. She's now in her second year and currently runs a new location for her school from noon to evening every single day.

When she first started working there, she'd often run to the store to grab small things for her classroom. She bought items like extra hair ties, colorful stickers, beads, and string with her own money. She always told me she didn't mind doing this because these supplies were cheap and made her job easier throughout the week.

Then she got her own dedicated classroom and things escalated quite a bit. She started looking on local community boards and shopping for her students far more often. She gathered twenty-four extra outfits to store in her room just in case parents forget to send spare clothes for the boys and girls.

She also keeps a large box of pull-ups on hand in case a child has an accident and doesn't have a change of clean underwear. On top of that, she provides extra snacks, warm jackets, socks, and a pack of combs and brushes for them. She even keeps extra nap bedding and bins of stalling activities she can pull out when needed.

She's even gathered various Halloween costumes in case one of her students shows up to a class party without one. If she thinks a student needs them, she simply gives away the warm blankets and jackets to take home permanently. I firmly told her this is excessive and she should leave it to the owner to supply these things.

She argued that the owner says these items aren't necessary, but they don't cost much and they make her days run smoother. I advised her that if the owner claims they are unnecessary, she shouldn't get them under any circumstances. I told her to let the owner see exactly how the classroom functions without all these extras.

I explained that I don't spend any money out of my own pocket on my own classroom. If my principal isn't willing to buy something, I believe the kids just don't need it. She claims it's different because I work at an expensive private school while she teaches in a lower income community.

I still told her it isn't her personal responsibility to fund her classroom out of her salary. I also pointed out that her buying stuff makes those of us who won't do the same look bad. She replied that she simply doesn't care about how it makes other teachers look because her students come first.

Now she's quite upset with me for being pushy about the whole situation. I feel I'm just looking out for her best interests and trying to protect her boundaries because I don't think it's fair for her to take on this financial burden. Am I wrong?

09/04/2026

My mother is fifty-five years old, and a little over a year ago, she married a man named Harry. On paper, it looked like a lovely second chapter for her. Harry is fifty, financially stable, and seemed polite enough in the beginning.

Shortly after the wedding, he packed up his apartment and moved into the house my mother has owned for over a decade. It's the same house where my fifteen-year-old sister, Molly, still lives. I am twenty-two and have my own place across town, so the new household dynamic was just the three of them navigating life under one roof.

Harry has never been married before, and he has never had children of his own. He lived a solitary, organized bachelor life for five decades. So when he moved into a house with a teenage girl, I fully anticipated some friction.

Teenagers are chaotic by nature. A man used to total silence and complete control over his environment was going to have a steep adjustment period. What I did not expect was for Harry to immediately appoint himself the supreme authority on how a young woman should be raised.

From the first week, the tension between him and my sister was a tangible thing. He didn't try to build a relationship with her. Instead, he treated her like an unruly employee who needed strict, unwavering management.

It started with the major pillars of her life. He tried to implement a rigid new curfew that completely overrode the boundaries our mother had already established. He demanded veto power over which friends were allowed in the house. He started asking to see her homework before she submitted it, critiquing her study habits in a cold, corporate tone.

Molly is a good kid. Suddenly finding herself living with a warden who had zero parenting experience pushed her to a breaking point.

She went to our mother and laid it all out. To her credit, our mom actually stepped in that time. She told Harry he was coming on entirely too strong, that he needed to back off and let her continue handling the major parenting decisions.

For a short window, things seemed to improve. But he didn't actually let go of the control. He just narrowed his focus. If he couldn't govern the big things, he decided to police the tiny, everyday details of my sister's existence.

He had opinions on the exact temperature she was allowed to keep her window cracked. Most disturbingly, he became hyper-focused on her appearance and the clothes she chose to wear. If she wore shorts in the middle of July, he would make lingering comments about modesty.

If she wore baggy sweatpants, he called it sloppy and unladylike. It was a constant, simmering pressure. Molly started spending all her time behind a closed door, wearing oversized hoodies even when the house was boiling, just to avoid his commentary.

Then, two days ago, it escalated from controlling into something entirely different.

Molly called me from a park down the street from their house, crying so hard she could barely get the words out. She had gone to the local pharmacy after school to pick up a few basic, everyday hygiene products. She had her own allowance, and nothing she bought was unusual. Just the standard personal care items a teenage girl needs to function.

When she walked through the front door, Harry was waiting in the kitchen. He demanded to see what was in the plastic pharmacy bag. Before she could even answer, he grabbed it out of her hands and dumped the contents directly onto the counter.

He sorted through her purchases, picked out one specific item, and announced he was confiscating it permanently.

09/04/2026

AITA for banning my mother from my daughter's birthday trip? We have a wonderful four-day vacation to Disney World planned to celebrate our little girl turning four. I thought everything was perfectly organized, until we found out a highly frustrating secret last night.

My mom actually planned on bringing her old, untrained chihuahua along without telling us about it beforehand. She even brazenly lied to my sister, claiming she had already asked my wife and secured our permission. Both my wife and I heavily dislike my mom's dogs, mostly because they are notoriously poorly house-trained.

There used to be three of these miserable dogs, but the other two recently passed away. In the past, we've literally had to replace two bedroom carpets in our own home because of them. They freely urinate and defecate wherever they please, despite me consistently begging her not to bring them over.

The resort we booked is the Shades of Green resort, which is exclusively designated for active military members. It's a very strict no-animals policy, and my mother is also a notorious freeloader on family trips. I called her up earlier to firmly tell her she simply can't bring the dog on this vacation.

I explained the policy and told her I'm not risking my military standing over her stubbornness. I won't get in trouble with an Army-run resort just because she wants to bend the rules. She firmly believes she's going to let an untrained animal walk around a premium hotel room relieving itself.

When I confronted her, I was immediately met with her usual selfish excuse that the dog is hers. She loudly proclaimed that she'll do whatever she wants, regardless of the strict resort guidelines we have to follow. At that breaking point, I just told her that's not how reality works when I'm footing the bill.

I informed her that she can either leave the dog behind or find another expensive place to stay. She's on a limited fixed income, but she routinely expects other people to pay for her things anyway. She never gives it a second thought, assuming everyone will just cater to her weird pet obsession.

If she wants to act this unreasonably, I honestly have no problem with her missing the trip altogether. She can sit at home with her chihuahua and miss out on her only granddaughter's special Disney birthday. I'm just curious what anyone else would do, since my family always excuses her bad behavior.

Her side of the family thinks this entitled attitude is perfectly acceptable for whatever bizarre reason. They're acting like I'm a cruel son for refusing to let a tiny dog ruin a pristine hotel room. I just wanted my daughter to have a magical, stress-free trip without smelling dog p*e everywhere.

I refuse to compromise my boundaries and risk a hefty financial penalty just to appease my stubborn mother. She needs to learn that her actions have real consequences, even if she hates hearing the word no. Am I wrong?

09/04/2026

My freshman year of college was the most exhausting nine months of my life, and all I wanted when I dragged my suitcases back through the door was to decompress. I had spent the entire year pulling all-nighters and living in a dorm room the size of a shoebox.

Coming home was supposed to be my sanctuary. But apparently, my parents had acquired a brand new obsession in the form of our next-door neighbor.

She was a woman in her sixties who moved in over the winter, and according to my mother’s phone calls, she was the greatest thing to happen to our street. She baked, she gardened, and she had completely charmed my parents.

They were vibrating with excitement to introduce me to her on my first day back. It was late May and blisteringly hot, so I threw on my standard summer uniform: a basic halter top and denim shorts.

It wasn't anything scandalous, just normal clothes for a college student trying not to melt. We walked over to her yard, where she was meticulously deadheading her hydrangeas, and my parents did the warm, effusive introductions.

She stood up, brushed the dirt off her gloves, and looked me up and down. It wasn't a casual glance; it was a slow, deliberate assessment that made me feel like a stain on her pristine driveway.

She gave this fake smile and said, in a voice dripping with condescension, that I really shouldn't be wearing things like that in public. She told me it was going to give the young men in the neighborhood the wrong impression about what kind of girl I was.

I was taken aback, mostly because I had known this woman for all of forty-five seconds, but I kept my tone polite and asked her what kind of impression she meant. Without missing a single beat, she looked right at my parents, then back at me, and said it gave the impression that I was an es**rt looking for clients.

The silence that followed was so thick you could have choked on it. I looked at my parents, fully expecting my dad to step in or my mom to tell this woman she had crossed a massive line.

Instead, my parents actually let out these nervous, high-pitched chuckles. They tried to laugh it off, weakly changing the subject as if she had just made a quirky generational joke instead of calling their eighteen-year-old daughter an es**rt to her face.

I felt something cold snap inside my chest. I wasn't about to let a complete stranger disrespect me on my own street while my parents stood by and nodded.

So I leaned in, put on an equally sweet smile, and told her it was a good thing I actually was one then. Her jaw practically unhinged, dropping so fast she looked like a cartoon character.

She stammered, her face turning a violent shade of red, and told me I shouldn't joke about disgusting things like that. I didn't break eye contact.

I told her it absolutely wasn't a joke, and proceeded to invent a fictional story on the spot about how lucrative my client list at college was and how I was hoping to expand my business here. She went completely pale, utterly sp*echless.

I smiled brightly, told her it was lovely meeting her, and turned on my heel to walk back across the lawn. The entire way back, I could hear my parents profusely apologizing to her, their voices frantic and pleading.

When I got inside, I thought they would follow me in and admit the woman was out of line. Instead, my dad stormed through the front door ten minutes later, absolutely livid, and started screaming about how I had single-handedly ruined their reputation.

09/04/2026

My older sister is forty-seven, and she's always been a little mean-spirited toward me. Everyone in my family gives her a pass, especially our mother, who always makes excuses. I'm thirty-two now, and I'm tired of the constant breaks she gets.

She recently separated from her partner because of her own ridiculous behavior. Our mother pressured me to let her and her five kids stay at my place. My other siblings wouldn't take her in, so it fell on me.

They all claimed they've got their own families to worry about. Since I don't have a partner, they decided it made perfect sense for me to host her. I reluctantly agreed, but I didn't plan on putting up with her bad behavior.

I just bought a new house, and I expected everyone to follow my rules. I clearly said there'd be no sneaking around or taking my prepped work meals. I also warned her she couldn't read my diaries or borrow my clothes without asking.

She stayed with me for a month and managed to break every single rule. Whenever I confronted her, she'd just ask what the big deal was. She didn't care that it's my home, claiming I can just buy more food or clothes.

Her kids broke several of my belongings while running wild through the house. Every time it happened, my mother convinced me to let them stay anyway. She'd remind me it isn't her fault and claim kids are just kids.

Yesterday, I hosted a work party at my house, even though I'm a very private person. My team leader talked me into it in exchange for covering the costs. I usually keep my personal life separate, so I wasn't thrilled about it.

Before the guests arrived, my sister came downstairs wearing the dress I'd picked out for myself. Since I'm a size eight and she's a twelve, she ripped the sides right open. I didn't want to cause a scene, so I just told her to change immediately.

During the party, she mingled with my coworkers and told embarrassing, fake stories about me. Her youngest child was still awake, even though we'd agreed on an early bedtime. The toddler ended up puking on one of my managers, who thankfully took it well.

When it was time for the meal, my sister tapped her champagne glass for attention. I thought she'd make a normal toast, but then things went off the rails. She pulled out my diary and started reading it out loud to everyone.

She read deeply private thoughts I haven't even shared with my closest friends. She barely got half a page down before I snapped and grabbed her by the arm. I dragged her straight to the front door and threw her out.

I immediately grabbed her kids and shoved them out the door right behind her. Then I marched upstairs and gathered whatever belongings of hers I could carry. I couldn't handle it anymore, so I chucked all her stuff straight out the second-floor window onto the lawn.

There was no fixing that disaster, and my guests quickly made their excuses to leave. I've taken the entire week off work because I can't face my coworkers right now. I just don't see how I can ever return to that office again.

This morning, my mother left me angry voicemails filled with some very harsh words. My older brother's furious because he has to house her until I cave. My sister also left ten messages crying about how disrespectful I've been.

They all expect me to take her back once my mother convinces me to cool down. I won't let her step foot in my house again, no matter what they say. Am I wrong?

Ursula F. McCurdy

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