Tonight's my art show, and I'm so psyched. I mean, people will actually be there this year, and I really want to impress them. I really like my pictures this year.
Tonight, I'm wearing this fun outfit that Jim helped me pick out last weekend. I had told him that I wanted something somewhat extraordinary. Something that would make me pop from the croud, so I could match my fresh, colorful paintings. So here I am, in a shiny, silky v-neck button down t-shirt, a long, grey skirt, and these crazy gold high heels. For some reason, I really fell for these shoes. I usually prefer flats, or shoes with just a small incline, but I just loved how they made my legs look (which was a new look for me), yet how conservative they could be at same time. I feel a little sexy, and I'm really enjoying the experience of it all.
Before I head down to my car, I take the shoes off. I mean, knowing myself, I'll probably twist an ankle or something.
I reach the ground level and slip the shoes back on. I open the front door and reach into my purse and feel around for my keys, but they're not there. I run back up the stairs to fetch them, and I find them right on my dresser. I look at my alarm clock, and I learn that I'm going to be late. So I rush down the stairs, and after a few steps, I----- *crash*
Pams outfit: http://www.smugmug.com/photos/136206004-L.jpg
*~*~*~*
I am thoroughly abhorred with myself. I am a good person, and always have been. These things are supposed to happen to whores and hussies. . . like Pam. Or Kelly. Or Phyllis. But not me. I, Angela Martin, am a innocent, prudent young women who knows good from sin. And God has, for some abstruse reason, led me to sin.
I revealed to the perpetrator of this atrocity, Mr. Dwight, our "situation" a week ago or so. He seemed thrilled, and as soon as I saw that ludicrous, goony smile engulf his face, I slapped him hard, pivoted, and left. I knew from the beginning that Lola, Sprinkles, Sweetie, Snuggles, Bubbles, and Daisy would understand my dilemma better than any foolish human could. I should have followed my initial instincts. My feline friends helped me cope through that senseless night. And here I am now. A strong, but damned woman, with a demon-child haunting her.
I recently went to the doctor, and I was disgusted to discover that the doctor was a man. A man who gets paid to look up girls' pants and touch their hooches. He is the real sinner.
He told me that I should attend some prenatal yoga classes when I get larger and begin feeling discomfort. I'd rather skip church than go do that! I'd gladly tough through the pain. It is God's punishment. And who wants to be in a room full of cursed sluts who share the same problem as you, anyways? I'm offended enough, and I feel that it would be even more disgracing to be compared to such tramps.
Well, at least I know that I'm sentenced to hell now. At least I'll get to pay a visit to my Grandmother Anne, who worked as a lady of the night herself in the thirties.
Story Notes:
no copyright infringement intended. I own nothing.
Author's Chapter Notes:
The first part is Pam.
The second part is Angela.
The second part is Angela.
