Story Time
Me. In fifth grade. Fine. Parents: We're going to go see disney on ice. Me: meh. Dad finds an ad that says that if you bring your children dressed up as some sort of disney character they get free tickets. Dad gets excited. Dad is cheap. My sister and I are told to put on some dresses from the dress-up-bucket so as to receive our free tickets. Us: No. Parents: Yes. Us: In the name of all that is holy, please, no. Parents: Yes. Us: Grrrr, fine. We are outfitted with hand-me-down hand-me-downs that appear to me made by somebodies great-aunt, who happened to be a nun, and blind. My dress is a lovey shade of shocking-blue and about two feet too small. My sister's is black and made of some sort of velvet that clings to her clothes and makes it look like she is wearing pants, not a dress, which is good because it is big enough to fit a fully grown man and she is in third grade. We defy the laws of disney-characterelle. We are scary looking. It is bad. Mom just laughs. We want to hit something, or her. We arrive to the place where free tickets are being handed out. We are surrounded by three and four year olds dressed up as princesses and dalmations. We refuse to leave the car. Dad goes in and explains that we are too shy to come out and makes us wave to her so that she can see that he isn't lying. We get the tickets. We leave. The show is amazing and I hate every minute of it. The End.
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