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If I had a restaurant, I’d name it Cloudy Skye’s.
Never go clothes shopping for yourself with your parents. I did. I learned the hard way. I am the embarrased new owner of white and pale blue Reebok sneaker, a cardigan that reminds me of cotton candy and a literally tortoise shell (design) barette. I saw some cute tops and this absolutely adorable sneakers (Nike, of course) and I managed to convince my mother to buy me this black top that says “Smexi” in red and white candy-cane design. Impressive.
Speaking of impressing people, it’s great that Lealand trusts his friends. Now I have an ‘in’, if you know what I mean. His name is Davis-John. DJ to friends and desperate step-parents (yes, he actually said that.) He says that Lealand told him that he thinks I’m (and I quote) “too good for him. Experienced woman of the world.” Totally glam. I practised some flirting with Antonio Rodriguez, who’s at my swimming class. He’s OK-looking. I tried some old world eyelashing, he brought up chlorine. (Not to bright, but clear connection) I tried some yawn-to-see, and he blushed. So I complimented him. My lovelies, one compliment from an okay-looking stranger (woman of the world) is better than lipo and face lifts and a million dollars worth of plastic surgery. I just told him he swam so well, and he looked so good in his red Spiderman trunks. He smiled and dived (dove? diven?) into the pool and did some laps, grinning like the fellow he is.
Just then, on the radio, they played Maneater. Damn.
I guess I’ll have to flirt like crazy on mind. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just tell Oracle “Rumour-Mill” Jensin to start a rumor that I like him. Should work.
Luv ya (DJ is pretty cute, girls. The best friend overlooked.)