Daddy wanted me to cook lamb livers for him. He had them marinating in milk on his nightstand beside his (sick)bed. I was taking them to the stove in an iron skillet. The stove was an old fashioned monster, with drafts and flues and stovepipes and heavy metal burner covers, and It was piled high with dirty dishes and stacks of newspapers. I spilled the 'juice' off the sheep livers while trying to clear a space on the stovetop. I was going to put some in from a skillet of little livers -- probably chicken -- but when I touched that pan this black stuck figure rose up from behind the stove and It was Mother screeching about me touching her stuff and messing It all up. Then Daddy started yelling at me about not even being able to cook a simple sheep liver for him, and I started running and crying because I just can't do anything right!
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