This web site contains stories of physical, mental, emotional, and sexual child abuse.

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“You know Honey; a big plate of buttermilk biscuits would be nice with that roast and potatoes tonight,” I told my wife.

“Well, you’ll need to go to the market and get a pint of buttermilk,” she said, as she walked to her purse and handed me five dollars.

When I arrived at the corner market, there was a long line at the cashier's, so I stood outside finishing my cigarette.

About twenty feet from me was somewhat of a young heavyset woman talking on the payphone. She was arguing with someone about “dressing for Easter,” something like that. As the conversation progressed, I learned that the person on the other end of the conversation was her mother. The woman was asking her mother if she would buy an Easter dress for her daughter as they did not have the money to do so. Finally, the woman hung up the telephone and just stood there wiping her eyes.

As the woman walked toward me, I raised my eyebrows and said, “If you don’t mind me asking how old your daughter is?”

“She’s five.”

“Out back there is a Goodwill Box and this morning my wife threw a large bag of girl’s clothes in one of the plastic bins. There are some real nice dresses in there, most only worn one time. Several came from Belk’s Department Store,” I told her.

Putting my hand out toward the small wooden building, the two of us began walking out back. When we arrived, I pushed open the two small swinging doors and saw the large plastic bag in the back corner of the bin. Unable to reach it; I turned backwards and slid my butt up onto the wooden counter frame and leaned down to grip the bag.

“Just what do you think you two are doing?” a voice came from behind us.”

Pulling myself upright and placing the bag onto my lap, I saw a policeman walking up behind the girl.

“These are some clothes that my wife and I threw in here this morning and I was going to give this lady one of the dresses.”

“Once in that bin, those items no longer belong to you.”

I slid out of the window, placed the plastic bag down onto the ground and began straightening out my pants.

“Well, not being a lawyer; I don’t know about that kind of thing. What I do know is that when I put my garbage can out on the street, I have to right to take anything back out of that container, as long as I do it before they actually make the pick up.”

“Well, this is a little different situation,” he told me.

I reached down and opened the sack and began to rummage through the bag. The first thing I pulled out was a handful of my granddaughter’s panties.

“And what is that?” asked the officer, pointing to the clothing.

“Looks like my granddaughter’s underwear to me.”

The next thing I pulled out was several nice dresses which Chelsey had out grown.

“That’s a beautiful dress,” said the woman.

“You think that’ll fit her?”

“She will absolutely love it,” she replied.

“How do I even know that this clothing belongs to you,” the policeman asked.

I pulled the cell phone off my belt and dialed my home number.

“Hon, can you describe to this policeman the clothing that we threw into the Goodwill bin this morning?”

“What have you gotten yourself into this time?” she replied.

Not replying, I handed the telephone to the officer and stood waiting for them to finish talking.

About a minute later the policeman closed the phone and handed it back to me.

“Okay, but I still cannot allow you to take these items. They are not your property once placed into that bin. That’s the law. If the value is under fifty dollars you could be changed with a misdemeanor and if over that, possibly a felony.

I reached over and took the dress from the woman.

“How much would you say this dress would cost at Goodwill?” I asked him.

“I don’t know, just a guess maybe five or six dollars.”

I took out my wallet and removed the seven dollars I had saved for gas for my lawnmower. Reaching in my front pocket and took out the five dollars my wife had given me for buttermilk and I placed the money in the plastic bag. I picked up the bag and threw it back in the wooden bin.

“Now that was rather stupid,” said the officer.

“Don’t want to be charged with a felony. Might get the hot seat for stealing little girl’s panties you know,” I told him.

I handed the dress to the woman and turned to walk to my truck. As I walked by the lady, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.


I turned to see a bald-headed 200 pound man with a Mohawk haircut, wearing all leather clothing, coming towards us, both his fists shaking and clinched tight.

“It’s my husband,” said the woman.

“OH JESUS,” I mumbled, as I began shaking my head.

“Everything’s fine here. Let’s just everyone go their own way,” instructed the officer.

As I passed the man, he gave me the 'look of death.' I though to myself “If this big ugly Moose gives me any crap he’s going to learn real fast like that I can run a whole lot faster than he can.”

Making it safely to my truck, I locked both doors and drove home.

When I entered the house the wife was standing in the kitchen and was staring directly at me.

“Where’s the buttermilk,” she asked.

“Look my dear; you were almost married to a convicted felon who does not have a dollar in his wallet for gas. A fellow who steals little girl’s panties from the local Goodwill Box and is having an affair with some fat chick behind the local market. A man who almost got his brains beat out by Doctor Death who had a skull with a snake crawling out of its eye tattooed on the side of his size sixteen inch neck. To be very honest I am not really in the mood for buttermilk biscuits.”

“Well, then I’ll just make cornbread.”

“I don’t like cornbread.”


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