I don't want the massive car he bought me; I want a little run around that I can afford by myself. I don't need a plasma screen tv, or the latest tumble drier (which I still can't work out how to use, after a year of trying....... ) I don't want to go to Michelin star restaurants, just the two of us; I'd rather take the girls out for a pizza or to a silly film.
So why do I need his permission to go to the pictures? Well I don't, it's true. But I'm always under the spotlight; my actions are scrutinised and pored over; my reactions analysed. I'm suffocating......
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