Friday, January 16, 2004

The couch in my aunt's living room holds, one to a cushion, my grandmother, me, and my stepbrother. Riley is under the coffee table in front of me, being a two year old, and I lean over for my camera.
"Samantha!" My aunt's screech has just, I'm almost positive, killed a dog three counties over. "Sit down! We don't want to see that?"
"What are you on about?"
"Your jeans, they have holes in them!" Without giving me a chance to answer she turns to my mother. "Her jeans have holes in the seat! Buy her a whole pair of jeans!"
My mother's face has already started to turn purple from not laughing. "She lives in Seattle. Last I saw, her jeans were fine." She tries to scowl at me because she suspects, rightfully, that I've worn these jeans on purpose to irritate my aunt. I dyed my hair blue a few years ago for much the same reason.

Later, my jeans come up again. As we're leaving, my aunt orders my mom to buy me some jeans. "Or at least some underwear."
"But I have underwear."
"Then you should wear it."
"I -am-."
"Well I can't see it."
It's at this point that I decide that explaining the whole concept of a thong to my aunt is too much for me. I figure the best option is to cut my losses and get the heck out, which is exactly what ends up happening.

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