Sticky Little Fingers

Roll over and close your eyes. Maybe mom didn't just wake you up. Maybe it was a dream. Go back to sleep.
Moan when you know that it wasn't a dream, and that you have to get up. You have to get up to do something that you want to do. You don't want to get up.
Get out of bed. Find that floral dress that you like. Put it on. Spend too much time searching for your blue polka-dot socks. Put your feet into navy blue sneakers. Give yourself a once over.
"I guess you look decent" you tell yourself. You never look good, but today isn't particularly bad. You still need to brush your teeth. You still need to do your hair. You still need to put on makeup. You still need to finish your summer homework, but you can get to that later.
Put your hair into a light pink bow, make your eyeliner look like it wasn't done by a four year old with a crayon.
"You look more decent. Now you'll fit in places that aren't mostly populated by sad teenagers with not-enough-energy."
Destination: Flying Saucer Pizza. Company: A friend from a far off place, and your mother. Time: 12:07 pm.
You are outnumbered. You are the only vegetarian. Are you causing problems? Yes you are. Let them get pepperoni. You are ok with consuming some Coca-Cola and left crusts for lunch. It's not like you're that hungry.
The group settles on a meatless pizza with fig sauce and broccoli. You still feel like you're getting in the way of things, even though your group members seem to be enjoying the choice much more than you are. After all, you feel your stomach expanding with every bite you take.
Destination: Salem Willows. Company: Has not changed. Time: 1:34 pm.
Enter the arcade. Your mother hands you eight quarters. Two dollars. This responsibility makes you feel childlike, knowing that you're going to essentially spend it on Tootsie Rolls. You will later feel guilty for eating these.
You won at least three times the amount of tickets that your friend won. This makes you feel horrible. She came to America and is now watching you be exponentially better at things than her, and that is not a comfortable feeling. Leave the arcade. Walk towards the ice cream stand.
Order a small mint Oreo ice cream in a cone. This is your favorite flavor. You are already full from the pizza, but continue to eat the ice cream. You wish you had gotten a kiddie size.
You walk towards the ocean, carrying on conversation about college in America versus Russia. Your stomach churns with every word. The thought of living on your own and paying for further education makes you feel sick.
"It is only in two years, good luck, bozo." That's the voice in your head.
Your ice cream starts to drip onto your fingers. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes. No, you can't start crying right now. You're in public. You're with two other people. There's nothing to cry about. You've been through worse.
More ice cream drip on your hand. There's sticky cream on your friend now, too. You walk back to the ice cream stand to get napkins. It's time to go home.
Once you get home, you look in the mirror. Your chubby, sticky hands connect to balloonish arms, clinging to a lumpy back which winds into a bubble of a stomach. You need to change into something that hides this.
The floral dress, polka dot socks, and navy blue shoes come off, and you trade them for old gray sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. You can hide in these clothes.
To start, your day was ok, you looked better than normal, but as the hours passed and ice cream dripped onto your hands, you realized that there are little things that make you want to return to morning, and never leave your bed.

Men's Socks

It's very difficult to me not to buy mens clothing instead of girls. No, I don't identify as male, and yes, I am comfortable as a girl, but sometimes blouses and tights become bleak or annoying and change is due.
Considering that I have no impulse control when the summer starts when it comes to cutting all of my jeans into shaggy, uneven, totally not ok to go in public with shorts, each August brings a trip to Old Navy to get more jeans that fit. They also have a mens section.
Old Navy seems to be the only place where I can purchase pants because I have thick thighs, long legs, and weirdly shaped hips. Size six, Diva style, to be exact. Anyways, I went in to buy pants.
While I was there, I had to hunt down my brother. He was taking too long in the tee-shirt department. I was looking for a middle school boy, I found fox socks and blue socks and red socks and striped socks. On sale.
There might have been something weird to my mother about her teenage daughter coming up to her in a dress and saying, "Mom? Can I buy these men's socks?" But come on, they were fox-socks.
Aside from finding these socks to be the most comfortable thing ever, I wear my brothers clothes a lot. Not really pants, but a lot of shirts. If my house had transparent walls, you could often see me pulling boys tee-shirts on, trying to see if I can cut my old pajama pants into boxers, and letting my feet swim in my brothers size 11 socks (women's size 12. I'm a size 8). This annoys him a lot.
I have a distinct memory of wearing my brothers sweatshirt one February morning, and making pancakes to surprise him when he got up. The scene went like this:
"Take my sweatshirt off."
"No"
"Yes. It's mine, you're a girl anyways."
"No."
"Take it off."
"Fine."
So I did just that. My brother (twelve at the time) was standing there in sweatpants and no shirt, so why couldn't I?
Thankfully neither of my parents were home, and no one rang the doorbell, because I don't think anyone (besides the one person who did, and that was involuntary), wanted to see a half naked fifteen year old girl.
I didn't grow up with sisters. I grew up with my one younger brother. I hate his guts, but I've picked up habits from him. There's two bathrooms in my house, and my mother has offered countless times for me to share her bathroom with her. I always decline. The shower's too small, and she'll probably use my shampoo. Instead, I share the smaller bathroom (that has a bathtub) with two boys/men. This is probably why I have no modesty, because guys generally don't. I don't have a problem with someone brushing their teeth while I'm showering, as long as their not brushing their teeth in the shower with me. That would be weird.
Really, all I want in life is to ditch my floral dress every once in a while, and become a dirty boy. But while still being a girl.