My family doesn’t often fight, but when we do, we do it properly.
The clash was over a controversial rocking-horse.
My aunt, the matriarch, the oldest of five siblings, had been blessed with a grandson. Obviously, he was the best of all grandsons ever, and therefore deserved the ancient family rocking-horse. Brother number four refused to give it up. Spies reported that the horse still held pride of place in the living room. Times were bided. Sides were chosen. People were armed. Now, we go to war.
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