Take Your Love, I'll Take the Fortune
All the relatives knew I had a "backward cousin."
For my birthday, she gave me a grocery-store pound cake.
When I ran a marathon, she presented me with a pair of worn-out canvas sneakers.
At my graduate school acceptance party, she even sent a funeral wreath of white lilies with a sash that read "In Sympathy," wishing me an early departure to the afterlife.
In my previous life, I slapped her so hard she tumbled down the porch steps.
My brother took her side and plotted revenge, falsely reporting to the university that I had cheated on my SATs. My admission was revoked.
"You're so modern. You know how things work," he sneered. "Plenty of people take a gap year. Just apply again."
My fa