Scarves and Cuts

I wore a scarf to school on Friday. I’m not a naysayer, but I don’t have to be to know that it didn’t go well. Apparently, there are implications. When one sees a scarf, it is automatically assumed that the individual sporting the cozy garment is, absolutely and undeniably, a total prepster. Now I may be, but I certainly wasn’t ready to admit it to myself right then.

I tried to convince them. I told them I was wearing it to cover up some bloody sores on my neck. But just when people were starting to believe me, somebody asked if they could see my injuries. But I’m as slick as my outfits, and I told him it would benefit both of us if I went and washed up the sores real quick. I dashed off, and quickly located the nearest painted lady. I asked politely to borrow her makeup. She agreed.

Five minutes later, I appeared from the bathroom with some gnarly cuts on my neck. Oh, I’m sorry, did you assume that I painted the sores on my neck with the makeup? No, I was only trying to fix my contours, and some jerk came up behind me and slashed me with a mechanical pencil. Nasty bastards, ya know? Always victimizing the small. I’m four foot three, if you weren’t aware.

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