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Going Back to Sunday School


I wake up early, groggily slapping the snooze button and hating the outfit I've picked out the night before. When I go to brush my teeth, I'm frightened by the sight of a hideous pimple that seems to be taking over the left side of my face. A familiar sense of dread comes over me. I have to go to Sunday school. Well, I don't have to go; I'm choosing to go. I'm going back to Sunday school to find out if it's as bad as I remember it.

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