She cries, looking so distraught. Like I'm the one who locked her under the kitchen sink. No, my dear. While I'm making dinner, Havanna creates chaos by tearing through the bag of recyclables that we keep under the sink. She throws all the trash onto the kitchen floor at my feet as I rush around stepping over everything while I try to cook. Of course, I could just put a lock on the cupboard. But where's the fun in that?
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