A Critique Of Whitney's Argumentative Essay
On the drive home, her comment, the die is cast, gnawed at me, since it meant her alter-ego Julie Caesar had crossed the Rubicon, the point of no return. Suddenly, I’m thinking about my seventh birthday - the night my father, Arthur Samuel Scooter, became Whitney’s adversary. The evening started out great - pony rides - presents – cake – ice cream, but took a nasty turn after the guest left. That’s when my father, in a drunken stupor, decided to critique Whitney’s latest abstract ‘Two Lovers’ and slurred - the shading lacked depth, the lovers were merely stick figures, and the color of the red rose suggested faded love. However, he didn’t stop there; he verbally sliced her jugular – by reminding her that her forefathers had created