spiders banned, spiders banned, crushed whenever a kleenex can
Today my peace accord with the spiders came to an abrupt end. I walked into the bathroom this morning and felt a filament brush my face. It's my hair, I thought frantically, but it wasn't my hair. That's it, sisters. It is on.
I kept count: I squished 12 in my bathroom alone. I left the ones in the hall alone, because I can't reach them and they don't bother me as much. I figure the one spider left in the bathroom can stretch out and enjoy herself. I'm pretty sure they don't dig competition.
Today after school I picked up my mom and went to a boutique to get fitted for the church fashion show. This is the first time I have been volunteered as a model, and my mother is discovering how much she wanted to be a beauty pageant mum. (Actually, she's just helping me with the zippers and picking outfits. Not Gypsy at all.)
I tried on clothes for two hours. Two hours of elegant pants, clingy tops, and brightly-patterned blazers. By the end of it I was longing for my Owl Dress…but at least we found some good clothes, and when I walk down the catwalk I won't look like a little girl let loose in her grandmother's closet. And no, you can't come see me. That is a promise.
This weekend I was supposed to finish my report cards, so being me, I was entirely domestic on Saturday as I recovered from my cold and entirely social on Sunday as I celebrated Sandi Purl's upcoming baby. The report cards were finished after 8 p.m. on Sunday, and I had to cheat to get the last class done. Fixed it this morning, and no one was the wiser. (Except Mason, who I was compelled to warn before I went to sleep. 'If I drop dead,' I wrote, 'all of the comments on one class are exactly the same. Pass it off as a glitch. Wait, I'll be dead. Who cares?')
Tomorrow: the power of Sandi's dandy shower, plus pictures that will make you want to eat Fenner with a spoon. And no more rhyming. That's another promise.
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