After my own quick smoke-removal session in the shower, it was time to gear up.
Sturdy black leather shoes, check. White socks, check. Navy blue wool skirt well below the knee, check. Crisp white cotton blouse, buttoned all the way up, check. Matching wool blazer, check. Jaunty little uniform cap and row of medals, missing in action. Did they give out medals in grade school, or would I have to make my own to complete the effect?
Yes, I was a girl in uniform, and I hated everything about it. Well, I could do some damage with the shoes, and the skirt and blazer had actual pockets big enough to hide some useful contraband, which was a huge change from my usual barely-there fashions. It just seemed a bit too dark and formal to me; didn’t little girls usually wear colorful dresses? I definitely owned some. Hell, Sally was rocking a floral-print number that showed enough leg to stop traffic, while my getup made me feel like I should be directing traffic, or handing out parking tickets or something. Give me a whistle and a badge, and I could be the shortest policewoman in town.
Instead, I was accessorizing with a cherry-red plastic coin purse, a large plaid lunchbox, and three brand-new pencils. Oh, yeah, bring it on, world! Virgin V. White, reporting for duty!
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