I love my house in Magrath and even more I would love to live there for the rest of my life where my mom could do my laundry and I could sleep on my memory foam mattress. It's heaven. One of my favorite things about it is that I still have my own little room complete even with some clothes and whenever I come home it is spotless and shiny and my bed looks oh so inviting. Yes, my full length mirror has the capability to make me look huge everytime I glance in it, but that's just one minor flaw about it. I love my bulletin board filled with photobooth pictures with my friends, quotes I like, and cute notes written on my white board. My room is never too hot and never too cold and always sunny. It's wonderful. You might be wondering, ok where is she getting with this? Well, I will tell you. While I was meandering around this room and looking through the clothes I leave down there in hopes of re-finding a piece that I love, I felt some major confusion. What were all these polos in my closet and why were they so large? My mother would never make the mistake of buying me something that obviously wouldn't fit, yet I still felt the sting of being offended just in case she did. That sting though, slowly grew into anguish (but not really) as I realized the terrible fact before me. They were my fathers. My dad has taken over my closet. Am I being replaced? Quite possibly. The next thing I know they'll be adopting some Asian baby named Woo Bou Gong and make them their new youngest child. I may seem vain but I've been the only kid living in that house for years and now it seems my joy ride may be coming to a stop. I cringe at the thought that someday there could be a treadmill in there or even worse... a scrapbooking room.