Pots & Pans

Pans (no pots yet)

   Red.

   Everything was red.

   Now, don't get me wrong. It wasn't because there was blood. If there was blood I might have actually cared.

   It was Chrissy Talliery's 11th birthday party, and she was in that weird Taylor Swift phase. She died her hair blonde(r) and wore those absurd floppy hats.

   It was a very white time for Chrissy. Somehow whiter than that time she asked to touch the only Hispanic girl's hair.

   She was holding a pumpkin spice latte when I walked through the (door? I wanna say door, but it was at Charlie Safari so, it was just a lion copy pasted on dead wood. But honestly, who isn't?). I think I was holding her present, but there's a chance I had already chucked it through the open display window at some ratchet ass bitch.

   Considering I was 11 at the time, there's a good chance I just handed the damn present to her.

   "Thanks, Nini!" Said Chrissy, in that absurdly white voice only children who's parents supported Hillary but only because she sold the uranium could muster. Although, it was before that time. So the more accurate saying would be; with the whitest voice only the children of people who voted for Romney only because they thought Obama was African could muster.

   "My name is Danielle," I had said rather indignantly. Nini was the dumb ass nickname Kathy Rochell had given me in the first grade, because it seemed Asian and Danielle didn't fit me.

   For some reason the name stuck. At least it did until sixth grade when I broke Jordan Crossy's nose. My nickname after that was Death Punch Master.

   Chrissy didn't really pay attention to me. She had already turned her 4 inch red  heels that the wicked witch of the West would be proud of,  towards the next guest.

   I don't really remember exactly why that day was so important to me.

   Oh wait, I actually totally do. That was the day I realized I was Pansexual.

   I guess it's a really obscure date to discover my 2/3 gayness, but it was definatly that party.

   I was sitting down at the snack table, which was bright red, sipping fruit punch, which was bright red, and wishing I had told my mom I was sick so I hadn't been forced to go to the stupid party.

   That's when Lola Hernandez walked through the door. I had never really even looked at her, but in my state of utter boredom I actually looked at her.

   Dark brown hair, chubby cheeks, cutesy skirt with an equally cute shirt tucked into it.

   And, At that point, totally my type.

   Then I thought I was bi, mainly because I didn't realize that there were any other sexualities other than gay, straight and both.

   I also ended up accidently breaking Gene Reich's ankles, but that's hardly the point.

   That absolutely horrendous party ended up being a key point in my identity and character.

   So thank you, and fuck you, Taylor Swift.