Lexy Forcett.
Thank goodness I had been able to be absent for the wedding. If I had to watch my Dad get all lovey and cheesy with that woman then I really would have deserved to spend my summer in a mud bank, rank infested juvenile corrections.
Jokes on her though.
Knew me just as well as she knew her own product.
Until I met the attachments. Sixteen-years-old and uber annoying Clarissa and Fred.
To Clarissa the right outfit was the be all end all. Her gift to a new little sister was donate all of my "greaser garb," replacing it with dainty dresses, skirts, tops, shiny black party shoes, and flats in ten different colors.
What was wrong with her!? The-- the obscene amount of money to spend--
And seriously, she was supposed to be a style queen? My Mother used to know putting me in a cherry blossom innocent white dress was a disservice and disaster untowards the whole world!
What she would have to say to this absolute mess of-- of vapid peppiness!
I should stop thinking on it. Don't dwell on the don'ts.
Fred.
Wannabe grease monkey.
Every minute pestering about all his dumb questions on what motorcycle to buy. Moron didn't even know push rod tubes for steering race removers, much less how to upkeep a bike mind you.
In short, the interlopers my Dad was insisting on calling family(blargh) were this close to driving me to murder.
With that cheery note....
Fall was here which meant a grey fade pair of jeans, spangled glitter fire and bloodied roses with a man's plaid long sleeve, and a lightning and silver link chain bracelet. And the new Aegis armband! My own Medusa head jutting to deter any pitiless boys away.
Instead I had a boring dark blue knit sweater, plaid blue skirt at knee length, and brown loafers of Winmeinster Day, the standard for all Forcett children as I was so kindly informed was mandatory.
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Cinder-saster
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