Things Get BetterChapter 3
The one single day I could point to and say my life began to get better was a Friday. �Rodeo Rosie,� as I had started to think of her over the years because I could only take about eight seconds of her bull, made another attempt at ruining my day but was bucked off at six seconds when my fifteen-year-old daughter rushed out of the house with her duffle and announced she was ready to go. To make sure we did, indeed, go, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the car. Rose followed us and was...