bully.

“It’s backwards again!!!” I screamed brutally in my mother’s face. This was the third dress I had tried on and I was already tired. “Just hold on one minute, for christ’s sake” she yelled back, equally as brutal, unless you consider the fact that I was 10 at the time.  “There,” she smiled that fake, gritty smile, “you see, it fits.” The dress was woven from, what I could only assume to be, the heaviest fucking wool in the world. It was white, so it was pretty, if you were frigid and or laying in a coffin. “Mom, I’m not wearing this. It’s a Christmas Party.” “And you look like a little snowflake!” She said as she held out the sides of the dress to make sure it was nice and loose. “Can I at least try it on in a smaller size? This is falling off me.” Or it would have been if the shackles around my neck weren’t locked shut. She would always insist on a size up. “No, no. It fits fine. Plus, this way you’ll be able to wear it next year, too.” I fucking hate Christmas.