There are days where I wish I was more like the other girls out there in the big wide world. Confident in the way they look. Able to talk to a gang of warbling females about a whole bunch of nothings whilst making it all sound like the most interesting thing this universe had ever seen. Able to go into shops and spend hours upon hours trawling through the same things, finding the exact colour that they want, or shape of heel, or length of one of the bobbles on a wooly hat. Yes, there are days where I wish I could do that.
Today is not that day.
Sam dropped the bombshell on both myself and Mark of some big get together that the members of the 'buddy system' will be having in about a week. The whole reason for her visit, in fact. And apparently we have to dress up and shit. Now, I don't know about you, but I thought a hoodie and jeans was good enough to get away with some party thing. But apparently not. We have to look presentable. And smart. And other big words that just make me feel a little idiotic. So she's dragged Mark and I out to find these clothes that we are destined to wear. The perfect opportunity to become one of those girls I so long to be...
And I hate it. I hate it with every fibre of my soul.
It's so boring. Wandering around these shops without a clue in the world on what I'm looking for is mind-numbingly monotonous. How am I supposed to know what skirt goes with what blouse? Or whether green brings out my eyes more than turquoise? I mean, shit. Aren't they sort of the same colour?
Fashion sucks.
“No, that just kind of hangs off you...”
Sam's cheerful voice brings me straight back to the room, and I immediately feel self conscious. She's got me in this weird looking dress thing that I can't begin to make heads and tails of. I'm not totally convinced that I've got it on right, but apparently this is 'the style'. I guess Sam would know, being Miss Fashionista and all that...
“Stay there. I'll get a smaller size.”
And she's gone, leaving me in this little room all by myself. In this thing that makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. Blah, I don't like this. I don't like this at all. Surely they wouldn't mind if I just showed up in my hoodie...
“Having fun in there?” I hear Mark call. All I can do is grumble out some sort of response. “What the hell has she got you doing?”
“Trying on things. Lots of things. They make me look weird.”
“Glad it's you and not me...”
“Your time is coming. She told me.”
“Fuck that shit. I'm not putting on anything I don't want to.”
“You'll have no choice. She'll force you into them.”
“I'd like to see her try.”
I giggle, impressed at his stubbornness. Even though it's his little sister, adopted sister, he still finds it difficult not to bitch about her sometimes. Especially when it comes to doing things that cross his comfort boundaries. And being forced into some kind of 'monkey suit' as he calls it is a definite no-go area...
“She's taking her time...” he mumbles, voice closer this time. Almost like he's just on the other side of the curtain. “Is this what girls are all like?”
“How would I know? Not exactly the shining example, am I?”
“You're a proper girl to me.”
“You don't know many though, do you?”
“Well...no...”
“Then you would know that I'm not anything like all those squawking idiots. I don't know how to match a blouse and a jacket. Or what shoes go with what tights. Or whether a low cut top is appropriate at a baby shower. I don't know anything like that. I don't know what it's like to be a girl. And I hate this stupid dress...”
