MISS DEMEANOR
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Thursday, May 8
The moment you’ve all been waiting for—since you forked over $100 of Daddy’s cash for a memento that will only torment you in the future as you drink your depression numb and complain loudly about how your life turned out and really, they should’ve voted you Most Likely to Do JACK SHIT, but that wasn’t a category on the list—has finally arrived.
YEARBOOK DAY!
There’s something magical about it, don’t you think? And by magical, I mean . . . I’ve seen you people in real life, and your senior pictures aren’t quite as authentic as one might expect from the upstanding students of Lavender Oaks. Back me up, (e)VIL. You kids know photo manipulation when you see it. Poreless skin and ultrawhite teeth, shadowy footprint on the surface of the fake moon, could be a UFO, could be a reflection. Feel me?
Shit. I just remembered (e)VIL isn’t on Facebook. All this carefully crafted conspiracy humor is lost to the ether. No matter. For the rest of you, speaking of manipulated photos, I’m compelled to report that the Prince Freckles photographer has yet to come forth. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for artificially curated infamy, people. What are you waiting for, an invitation? Mi scandal es su scandal!
Don’t let me keep you, fishies. Run along to the cafeteria and collect your yearbooks, write those keep in touches and have a great summers until your hands cramp. In twenty years, when the delicate arts of handwriting and eye contact are long forgotten and communication occurs solely via brainchip-to-brainchip text, you’ll have a lovely little keepsake of the good ol’ days. Or a doorstop for your space pod.
Either way, someone else’s money well spent.
xo ~ Ciao! ~ xo
Miss Demeanor