Looking for inspiration today, my good friend and amazing writer/editor, Kemari, gave me a list of words to use in my post. She called it the "Magpie Method" (whatever that means). Here's the list she gave me: Birthday, Balloon Animal, Radioactive Cupcake, Moldy Hummus, and Walkie-Talkie.
Here's what I gave her:
Pink is the Color of Shame
It’s my birthday today, and I am praying for radioactive cupcakes instead of the three-tiered cake with an obscene amount of ribbon. My parents have been planning this event for almost a year now, and it will be nothing short of traumatizing.
I am almost certain there will be balloon animals and moldy hummus – like my friends would eat that anyway. The guests are probably filing into the backyard right now, laughing at me behind their wrapped packages. I am the butt of all jokes; the laughing stock, but I can deal.
If my parents weren’t so damn happy about it, I would totally blow it off. I would skip the event all together and head to Beatty’s to play his Playstation and eat pizza. We could pretend it’s just a regular day, where I am not forced to make nice with people I don’t want or care to know.
The reflection in the mirror stares back at me. I look ridiculous. I would never wear this much pink if they hadn’t insisted. I would never paint this much gunk on my face if they hadn’t asked. Oh, God… I can tell it’s going to be a nightmare.
I am pretty sure the purpose of this party is not necessarily to celebrate my birthday; they are looking for acceptable husbands. Like I would marry one of those pimple-faced booger eaters.
They want to marry me off, so I can move out of their house. They want time to do things together. Probably run around naked, or something equally gross.
“Bridget,” the walkie-talkie I’m holding hums.
I gather my strength and reply, “Yes, mother?”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I really don’t want to go, but I can’t tell her that.
“Sweetie, you’re only fifteen once.” I can hear the smile in her voice. She loves me; I know. This will make her incredibly happy, so I will do it. I will paste a sickening smile on my painted face and walk down the stairs, out to the back yard, and try not to die.
I can’t make any promises.
This is also my submission to contest going on at Deanna Schrayer's blog. Check out her site: HERE