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Every parent knows this moment in a child's age when he or she needs your attention in a very specific way because it's the beginning and ending of the early life of imagination. It's such a responsibility. In specific circumstances the period of aging decline can set in earlier in a particular organ than in the organism as a whole which, in a certain general or theoretical sense, is left a cripple or invalid.

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The three touchstones that woke Buddha up - sickness, old age, and death - are a pretty good place to start when crafting a tragic tale. And if we need to get more specific: heartbreak, destruction, miscomprehension, natural disasters, betrayal, and the waste of human potential. There's nothing to be gained, and much to be lost, in trying to bend every child to match a one-size-fits-all notion of what it means to be a boy or girl of a specific age.

Better to set a few parameters and then go with the flow. Call it 'jazz parenting. I am convinced that a good building must be capable of absorbing the traces of human life and taking on a specific richness I think of the patina of age on materials, of innumerable small scratches on surfaces, of varnish that has grown dull and brittle, and of edges polished by use.

Resiliency is not gender-, age-, or intellectually specific Votes: 0. Most fatal diseases had their own specific odor, but Today there is no symbolic compensation for old age, no recognition of a specific value: wisdom, perceptiveness, experience, vision. Aging is not lost youth but a new stage of opportunity and strength. Votes: 4 Betty Friedan. I had better not find this on another site with names changed and such. It's rude and cruel. It's also called plagiarism! Enjoy the fiction, don't steal it. Or was it the dessert in the desert?

Either way, I had sand in my ice cream. Specifically Ages Author's Note: We encourage all of our readers to please read our bio page! It's where we describe how we got the idea for this story, our inspiration! Highly recommend you watch it!

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But please understand that though we've been highly inspired, we have changed it entirely to make it into an original story with different characters and plot line. Please read ahead and decide for yourselves! A chorus of clangs added another note to the symphony of chaos composed in the grand kitchen of the Julliene. Master chefs, usually agreeable and composed, barked obscene orders at workers of lower rank.

The workers, in retribution muttered curses under their breath. Some of them too vulgar to even dictate. The usual amiable kitchen was now the setting of distempered workers. The hot atmosphere of the kitchen did little to help the repressed workers who had been mercilessly drilled into working since the wee hours of the morning.

To make matters worse, they all smelled like hobos without a month long shower, but they had no choice. They had to work to their full potential for the event that was occurring tonight. It was a prestigious event many other event halls would die to host. Since the event was so vital for the image of the Julliene , the management resorted to role switching for many of the employees as the hotel was understaffed and hiring new workers at such a short notice was deemed an unreasonable venture.

Therefore, janitors had to help decorate, secretaries had to color-coordinate the napkins with the tables, and the waiters and waitresses had to help in the kitchen. One particular girl, Sophia Blackhall, recently hired, considered this ruckus unnecessarily dramatic.

I reached for another baked pastry, and meticulously perched it on top of the growing pyramid of Napoleons. Wiping a drop of sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, I grabbed the last Napoleon and glared at it.

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With my hands shaking, I delicately placed the layered dessert on the gentle pyramid only to see that the whole structure began to sway. I looked away, not wanting to witness my failure. Tears stung at my eyes, swollen from lack of sleep. It was my first day on the job and I was going to be fired because of a stupid Napoleon. My ex-boyfriend, Bonaparte came to mind.

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I bit down on my lip and waited for the eruption from Chef Pierre, my boss. I had seen him hovering around the pastry chefs, breathing down their necks and spitting at their faces. He was a man who ruled by slaver. I really did! Please don't fire me! I promise to not repeat this mistake! With folded hands covering my face, I knew I was in a pathetic position, but what could I do? I think anybody would've begged to keep the job. Food-on-the-table overtook pride any day. My eyes widened in shock. The pyramid was intact and very much alive. Thank the heavens for the savior of my life, Bea Thomas, my sole confidant at the hotel.

We bonded over fish and chips in the men's lavatory after I had stepped into the wrong room to do my business. Luckily, Bea was there to drive away all the men. Or else, the entire hotel staff would have learned of my constipation problems. Bea had saved me once again. Bea gave me a hug, "Calm down Soph. Old Hook is on the other side of the kitchen. Old Hook was our nickname for Chef Pierre. The nickname fit him aptly because he had a moustache just like the pirate in the Disney film.

It was so dramatic and odd because he was practically bald. How he had such a large moustache and so little hair, the world will never know. Bea smiled widely at me, revealing her smoker-yellow teeth, "And a lot of other things, but for now that will do. Bea went back to the chocolate mousse station, the one right next to mine, and began piping the mouse into small glass goblets, "Who gives a shit?

Seriously, I'm thinking of starting a rebellion. Working us for eight hours without even a bathroom break. I bet half the workers already shitted in their pants. I giggled in spite myself. I loved Bea and her bluntness. In my mundane life, she was the only one who made living seem worthwhile. Even though I had only known her for a day, it seemed like a lifetime of memories had formed since yesterday. Living alone in a half-bedroom apartment, at the lower rink of the city, was not the image I had in mind when I thought of an independent life. But, it was tolerable due to work.

Work took my mind off of such things. He's the reason we're understaffed right now and doing double duty! Only hiring skinny twigs. Oh, like that wasn't gonna backfire on his fatass. Jim, the manager of the Julliene, also known as Monsieur Perverto, was a beefy man who barely fit in his tailored suits. He was only thirty, but looked forty due to his large build and steely bald-hair rim. There was a rumor that he only hired bald men, and the lack of male workers with hair offered some substance to that tale. A loose spender, he was a man with even looser morals.

He liked to fondle female employees under the desk, so to speak. Under the pretext of overseeing, he would touch them in inappropriate places and no one said a word. Since the crash of , jobs had been difficult to come by. In today's time, desperation overtook any notion of pride. Silence was the golden rule in the Julliene. Due to that Jim remained at a distance. But when I shook his hand, it sent shivers down my spine.

He was someone I did not want to be alone with. I finished one tray and placed it in the ten-level cart.

Love Quotes for the Ages. Specifically Ages by Dark Jar Tin Zoo

Only six more levels to go. Only more Napoleons. That was totally reasonable within two hours. Not mentioning the time for her to take a quick shower and to get dressed for the event. Yup, perfectly rational. But I was not one to give up so easily. I was determined to finish on time. I took a fresh tray and laid it with wax paper. Before I began piling, I leaned on the counter and took deep breaths. I felt faint and dizzy. The lack of food didn't help my situation.

I took a swig of water and shuffled by aching feet. I immediately kicked them off and donned a pair of neglected slippers, frayed and withered by time. Though I was used to silence as a backdrop, the pastry kitchen usually was, today was an extraordinary day of clamor. Chefs' barked orders, machines whirred beyond capacity, and curses rang galore in the usually demure and composed kitchen.

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All I knew was that the hotel was hosting a leukemia fundraiser. I knew it was to be expected to make a large amount of food, but I failed to comprehend why we were asked to make such complex desserts. Napoleons and fancy chocolate mousses were easy desserts. She was extremely annoyed that she had to arrange the strawberries in a flower design. I mean, isn't this just a charity event for leukemia?

What's the big deal? Apparently I had said something wrong because she stopped arranging the strawberries and gave me a look of pure disbelief. Sophia this is not just some charity event for leukemia. This is the charity event for leukemia. Very, very, very important people are going to be present at this event. Celebrities come to events like these all the time. I heard Julia Roberts was coming to this event…".

Bea cut her off, "They are not celebrities! They are so much more than that. We are talking about royalty that anyone could only imagine to be in the presence of. Bea stopped speaking directly to Sophia and became lost in her own little dream world, she began to mumble words such as "dreamy" and "sexy" and "charming". After each word she would occasionally sigh heavily and her cheeks would turn a pale shade of pink, which contrasted against her pale complexion profoundly.

After a minutes' worth of meaningless sighs, I took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. What is with you today? What royalty are you talking about? Is some prince coming to this event? I was more of a philosophy and cookbook gal. I hated being told things, especially from people in the same age group as me. These people are more powerful than any celebrity. They have connections with royalty all around the world. Their influence is so vast that their empires virtually rule the economy of this Earth we live on.

And the fact that they venture out to public events so sparingly, this is a really big thing for the Julliene you know. Everybody is trying their best because they want to make a good impression. My jaw dropped leading to my mouth forming an oval O shape. The absurdity of Bea's words shocked me. You really need to see the news more girl! They've been in it every day.

You must have heard of the Romanov Corps? I barely watch TV, let alone read the newspapers. You know I am very passionate about my job. They're the owners of Romanov Corps, which is an organization situated in Russia, and they're super huge in the defense industry.

Let's just say that they provide us with the required materials for war. Helicopters, tanks, you name it. Our weaponry is branded with their mark. Bea continued like a news article, "And the leader of the industry, Vlad Romanov has connections with each country leader…" she paused to witness my facial reaction before she spoke her next words, "And is rumored to be associated with the Russian mafia. And not just the Russian mafia, apparently his grandfather was this big time military leader for the Soviet Union and created all sorts of government spy agencies way back in the day.

They could start a global war or make a country fall with that kind of defense power! Bea in an I-told-you-so voice replied, "Like I said they're very influential in world affairs. And besides the alleged association with the KGB is only rumored. Bea continued, "And he supports various organizations helping the poor so he's not that bad of a guy you know. Voted number two in Time's most influential men. Bea retorted, "Neither do you!

Two seconds ago you didn't even know this organization existed!

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Besides, he is really good in keeping the peace in diplomatic affairs. Besides, gossip contains some truth. It specializes in oil reserves and drilling in Texas.

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Let's just say he's in the top five circles of the richest men in America. Look at how high the gas prices are! He's totally ripping us off. Bea slapped me lightly on the shoulder, "Be nice. He's providing clean and safe energy for the environment and gas for our cars. Named number three in most influential. I continued to stack the Napoleons. I caught a whiff of the chocolate mousse and took a bowl. I emptied it in half a minute. She hit my hand as I tried to take another. I laughed and handed her a Napoleon.

She ate it whole and shot me thumbs up. Okay, I admit I was slightly interested. I mean, these people sounded like fictional characters of novels. I was incredulous that they existed in the world. I, like any commoner, was fascinated with the world of the powerful. I made a face at her.