Shopping

"All right class. I want to you write a short prose on something you are passionate about, one way or another. Try not to be offensive in your writing, as we will be sharing them with the class in about ten minutes."

Normally, I hated the kind of prose Mrs. Welsh made us write. We always had a writing prompt about something I couldn't care less about. It was never anything worthwhile for a junior in high school to write about. But having free rein over my topic just made me happy. Because after my horrible experience from this weekend, I was plenty passionate. And it also just so happened the topic would probably hit a few nerves for certain girls in my class, who I not only wanted to hit said nerves, but pinch them.

Picking up my pen, I began to scribble words on the paper.

Shortly after finishing, Mrs. Welsh called us up, one by one to read our short prose. 

"Callie, please come forward." 

I had a stupid grin on my face from ear to ear. I stood up and took my place front and center.

"Shopping." All the boys in the class groan, but I just chuckle to myself. Most of them like my target about as much as I do, which is not at all. So I shrug off their grumblings and continue.

"I don't think there is anything I hate more than that word. The prime evil word that somehow is supposed to sum up the entire female population and their passion. The ridiculous pettiness of spending all you have on worthless pieces of cloth to cover your body (or not, as is the case for most of the world). As a girl, I detest everything having to do with this word, every meaning it possesses. Except for one aspect." I looked up at everyone and smirked.

"Shoes," I waggled my eyebrows and the class laughed. Everyone knew this to be true.

"If there is anything that could label me as a girl, this would be it. I was never girly as a little kid, but oh, if you gave me free rein on shoe shopping with $500, I would blow it all in an hour. My personal favorite are Converse, as has been the case ever since I was in sixth grade. I have 9 pairs, with one in the mail and another pair coming for Christmas. Although my parents don't know that yet," I said with a wink while everyone burst into laughter.

"However, there was always one aspect of shoes that I could never stand." I let the sentence hang for a moment before continuing.

"Heels," I said with apparent disgust. "Those disturbing death traps created to make a woman's butt look smaller and harder for us to run away from creeps. I've always felt like heels were worthless scraps (they don't even deserve to be called shoes), but I had the unfortunate happening of shopping specifically for those this last weekend for my sister's wedding.

All I can say is this: worst experience of my life.

And now after 5 hours of heel shopping and walking around in them to break them in and two full days later, I brush my finger over the blister on each of my feet." I reach down and rub my aching foot, then look up at Sabrina with a smirk on my face, queen of the preps.

"I can't help but wonder who is crazy enough to wear these beasts on a regular basis. Not just because they hurt like no other, but because it makes them look like petty, preppy and, if I'm being totally honest, a hooker." I make sure "Sabs" is looking me in the eye as I finish.

"I pity them."

Swiftly I take my seat again as I hear the applause from all around me. Serves you right, I think to myself. You mess with Clark, you mess with me. 

I can't help but smile to myself, satisfied.