I was born 3 days early and 23 hours too late. My mother is probably holding that against me. Maybe that's why she says she found me in a trash can (sometimes). I'm typing this up on my laptop and listening to Green Day for the third week in a row. Through the wall on my left my pseudo straight cousin is singing something unrecognizable, and to my right is the ungodly amount of homework I probably won't do but I did it anyways.
I am currently not purple. I don't have enough red dye to mix with the blue. Instead of being purple I get to listen to the same question for the sixty third time this week.
"Does this look okay?" the voice of my psuedo straight cousin brings me out of my musings.
"It looks fine." I reply, irritated.
"Are you sure?"
"It looks fine." This time the words come from between clenched teeth.
"The shirt isn't too tight?" These words confirm the fact that he is oblivious to anyone but himself (and probably an idiot) , but I reassure him anyways.
"It looks absolutely fine. Now leave me alone." I'm so nice.
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