Potpourri

I was once a child laborer.  


Every year, Friends Select hosts the lower school bake sale and bazaar.  It happens, without fail, the Wednesday before winter break.  For months before, every student must help create crafts to sell for a few cents to their peers.  In 2nd grade, Tr. Rita informed us that we would be making scented pillows.  We spent a few hours everyday sewing rectangular pieces of fabric 3/4 of the way closed, turning them inside out and then stuffing them with cotton a potpourri.  We were given no compensation for all of our blood, sweat and tears.  In fact, I had to buy my own pillow a few weeks later.


I recently found the pillow, after 10 years of sitting in my drawer.  It didn't smell like potpourri anymore.    

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