The first time she told her mother to fuck off, her mother was sitting on the dirty blue velvet couch, reading the newspaper. Polly walked into the living room, excited. Her mother didn’t look up. There was a bottle of beer, open, mostly full, sweating on the table next to her. “Fuck you!” Polly said, clenching and unclenching her fists. Her mother looked up, alarmed, but without missing a beat, she whacked Polly across the face with the newspaper.