Men in .......?

I wrote this little piece while at Laci's house for her birthday party. Please note that this is the honest truth, and names have not been changed to reveal the guilty.

"We can't do this," Andrew says.
We're listening from downstairs, rapid footsteps and questioning laughs. The rattle of hangers, then, as she head's upstairs to listen, "Molly's coming!" and panicked laughter. Laci worries aloud about what they could be doing. As we begin to settle down, Tyler and Nick appear at the foot of the stairs. We barely have time to register that they are wearing skirts, and scream to Laci when they turn and run.
-an hour later, after we have surrendered our cameras

"You can't blame me for missing it because I was brushing my teeth," pleads Laci for the twentieth time. When they finally agree, we go downstairs to wait. Even before they appear, we are giggling in anticipation. Here they come. Tyler wears a long red skirt with a beaded sash. Nick is wearing a green skirt, Andrew a black one, and Logan a knee-length brown skirt. They have them pulled up above their waists to fit, t-shirts tucked in, and pants underneath. We chased them up the stairs, laughing desperately as they tripped and tangled in the long skirts.

Live that one down boys.

The End of an Era

Today, the sixth day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand and six, at nine fifty-seven of the morning, I finished math, forever.

(long pause)


YAAAAAHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Boring Day (With a dash of pepper)

Today hurt. Because my foot hurts. Over Thanksgiving break, which was excellent in every other respect, I was doing a bit of the scottish reel, and somehow managed to land on the top of my left foot. It didn't hurt much then, but now I have to hop upstairs, which is quite distressing. Also, all my classes were boring enough to fall asleep in, and the day was all in all quite dull, until a boy from my Civilization class wrote his number on my hand. Very shocking. Probably the closest thing I've ever had to being asked out. I'm quite sure that I didn't like it.

p.s. I wouldn't have let him draw on my hand, but I thought that he was doing just that, drawing, not writing. Wouldn't have dreamed...

p.p.s. I need to go wash my hands now.

p.p.p.s. I always write like this after I watch a Hugh Grant film. I'd apologize, but my readers will probably appreciate my current tone.