Living with the Devil's Daughter

When I started out the door, she made a running hit on me, tackling me like a football player. She hit me between the shoulders with all her weight with such force that I flew off the porch, cleared all five steps, and fell far out in the yard. The pain from the fall was excruciating. 

If she worked evenings, she called about five o’clock. 

“Make sure you eat.” She always told me what she had fixed. Then it was, “Make sure you eat.” But she rarely ate anything she fixed me. Many times, she prepared food for me and then had some reason to go elsewhere to eat.