Typically Wrong

Chapter One: Just, who the hell am I?

Everyone goes through that phase in their life. The one in which they wonder who they are and where their life is going. I never cared to go through that phase. I knew who I was. I was misjudged. When it came to where my life was going, my attitude was simple: down the road. Metaphorically, of course. I was going to keep walking forward, accepting all the bits of knowledge I can, and hope that at the end of the road something good would be there.

I bet you’re wondering just who the hell I am.

I am the blonde, the ‘mean’ girl, the ‘bully’, the ‘popular’ chick, the ‘bitch’, and my favorite: the bimbo.

You know who I am. You’ve probably read a different billion stories about me ruining some poor innocent girl’s life. You’ve probably seen the movies too. Even I’ve seen the movies. They’re hilarious when I think about it. It’s like a huge inside joke and you’re finally going to understand.

So, here we go:

 “I get it sweetie, you don’t like it,” my mother sighs, unconsciously giving me those puppy eyes. “That’s why you haven’t worn my birthday gift to you.”

“No!” I squeal. Those puppy eyes are just too much for me. Even if I don’t like the dress, I may as well wear it at this rate. It’s the least I could do for the woman who gave birth to me. “I just haven’t found a good time to wear it, but you’re right! The first day of school is an excellent chance to show off my mother’s awesome style.”

“Sweetie, it’s fine, you really don’t have to,” she shrugs and gives that brave smile she always gives me when she’s hurt.

“Mom, I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to, trust me.” My smile is genuine. I really do love her. My last statement is technically true. If I didn’t want to make my mother happy, I wouldn’t wear it. “I’m going to go put it on with those nice leggings we got, alright?”

She nods, leaning forward and kissing my forehead. “Alright, alright. Just know that the next time I buy you a birthday gift, you must come with me.”

I nod, chuckling, because she says that every time. While her intentions are honest, both of our busy schedules never seem to coincide with one another. This results in little time with one another and plenty of lonely shopping days. It may seem shallow, but shopping is usually our bonding time.

“Sure, I don’t mind,” I shrug, hoping that next time we’ll actually have time for that.

She rises from the foot of my bed. “Good. I have to head off to the office for now, I’ll hopefully see you at six today.”

Translation: Scramble up some dinner from the freezer and make sure to do the dishes. Oh and I’ll be home at about eight.

I shake my head, sighing as she exits the room.

It’s probably strange to get all that information from a farewell, but it’s in the experience with my mom. Either way, I realize that tonight is going to be another lonely night. Francesca, our maid and friend, had to take the next few days off to visit her son in the hospital, so she won’t be here either. (That reminds me that I should visit him too; he’s such a sweet kid.)

Quite alright though. I’ll survive. There’s no need for my selfish thoughts.

After slipping on a pair of short black leggings that touched just below the knee, I put on the gold brocade mini-dress mother had gotten me for my birthday. A smooth black cloth-like ribbon encases around the dress at the curve of my body. As beautiful as this dress is, it simply isn’t school material. Or better yet, my style. Yet, mother had hand-picked this expensive D&G dress and I was bound to wear it at one point. Last but not least, I throw on a short black cardigan in hopes to ‘casualify’ the dress.