Personal Narrative 3

She is tall, skinny, and attractive. Her laugh lights up the room. Her radiating skin glows; captivating every eye in the room. Her kind heart causes everyone to melt at the sight of her selfless attitude. She gives up everything to make her friends happy. She is the best thing that has happened to this universe. This is her interpretation.

            She is average height and build, attractive too. She tends to put herself before others. When she steps into the room, all eyes had better make their way to her or the bitch in her is soon released. Her friends’ happiness is on her list of things to do, only a few spots under what she wants for herself. This is my interpretation.

“Does this bra make my boobs look bigger?”
“Not really, why?”
“Because I want to get laid tonight so I need them to look bigger. Go grab me a 36A.”

“But you wear a 36C.”

“If I get a smaller bra, my boobs are more noticeable.”

            Every day I see her I am asked if her boobs or butt look big. The correct answer is always yes, how could I ever think of saying anything different? She wears clothes too small for her so everything, excluding her stomach, looks bigger. According to her, that is what the guys want.

            We hang out at night and decide to sit around and talk and maybe have a glass of wine. “I’M SO WASTED!” she screams two sips into her white zinfandel. She did this because we were talking about my job, which did not include her. We let out a sigh and give into the game that she wants to play. “Wow...no more alcohol for you,” we would say to make it sound like we actually believe that she is wasted beyond belief. If we do not play along with her, her eyes fill up and we listen to a sob story about how awful her life is and she is completely alone and not one person in this world really cares about her. This carries on for an hour or so, until she is cut off from her “buddy” across the street that wanted to see if she was available for sex. She immediately sobers up and she is laughing and giggling as she changes into something slutty that she can wear across the street.

            That is Mary, my best friend. She is a very self-centered person who even admits that she gets everything she wants. When she asks if she looks fat in a dress, it takes all of my power to bite my tongue so I do not accidentally say, “YES! Mary you do look fat but that’s probably because you are a size nine, NOT ZERO!” Luckily I usually have more self-control than that.

            Now don’t get me wrong, I love this girl but sometimes I feel like someone just needs to slap some common sense and morals into her.