too glam to give a damn >> pp blitz

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You know what my teacher called me today? Sad, poor Patty. 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

It's starting to get under my skin, am I like, mopey or something? My whole freshmen year sucked. I didn't even go into it with high hopes or expectations - quite the opposite, actually! Just like middle school, I was expecting to be 1) ignored and 2) called fat, and.. yup, high schoolers checked those boxes pretty quick. Thanks guys, knew I could count on you. You know, they say bigger girls are more attractive in the lower districts, me and Marge used joke about getting visas, but I don't think I could actually leave the district. 

I just want school to not suck for like, two days. I'll get my wish eventually: the year is almost over, thankfully. Once prom is done and over with, Poppy'll go on her summer camp paradise or whatever and Percy will go to science camp and I'll finally have all the peace and quiet I deserve. All I have to do is survive long enough to get there, which, sigh, is the hard part. 

And unfortunately, I made the grave mistake of being born. It may just be my freshmen prom, but this is Poppy's senior prom, and she told me since summer of last year that she would be making me over for it. Which like, terrifying, my sister is fucking terrifying. I can't say she'd never hurt me, but it's not like she'd ever kill me or something - there's just no telling her no. Anything that gets in her way gets bulldozed right over, and lucky for me, my eyebrows are in the way of her happiness. 

See, and another thing, I always knock before entering rooms but Percy and Poppy never do. What's up with that? Were they raised by different parents or something?! I don't wait for a response, but at least I give a courtesy knock, you know? 

"Okay, I think I'm ready," I say, letting out a heavy sigh. "This isn't going to like, hurt, or anything. Right?"

table by fox

[sidney]

P O P P Y

Honestly? I don't really like Patty that much.

She doesn't take care of herself, at least not in the way I think is appropriate. She should do her hair every morning, take pride in her personal style and aesthetic. If she would just let me make her a new wardrobe, design some more flattering outfits, and teach her how to do her make up - she could be so hot!

I don't know how many times I have to tell her that before she will start to listen.

"Are you ready?" I shout from the confines of my father's home office turned my new fashion studio. What? I needed the space, okay? I was running out of room to hold all my fabric and mannequins. I don't use those skinny ass ones most designers use. They're useless, especially when you're curating clothes for a much more sexy and voluptuous body - not some rail thin skeleton who's clothes practically fall right off them. Yuck!


"UGH! Come on, Patty! I don't have all night!" I whine, starting to get annoyed. It's only exacerbated as Percy ducks his head into the room. 

"You could not scream, you know? Some of us are doing homework and trying to concentrate." He puffs out his chest as if he isn't as short as my fuckin' boobs, and I couldn't still lay him out like I did when we were younger. 

"Shut up, nerd," I chortle back, with as little recognition of his existence as possible. "This is my house, too. I can yell if I want to. You could use headphones!" He doesn't respond, just rolls his eyes and slinks back to the dark, stinky hole he calls a bedroom, and I feel so good about that interaction. Percy always thinks he's got something important to say, like his words are a gift to us and the world. 

Boy, have I got news for him!

Patty enters a few minutes later, red in the face and practically shaking, asking if it's gonna hurt. And I try not to laugh right in her rosy cheeks. She's so helpless! "You're joking, right? Why would it hurt? Unless I'm terrible at this - and we both know I'm not."


I usher her over to the three full-length mirror set up I put together in the far corner of the room. "Step up," I tell her, offering her a hand to steady herself onto the platform. "What are we thinking?" I ask, pulling out my tape measure and hooking my strawberry needle case onto my wrist. "Any colors you had in mind, or do I get complete creative control?" I ask, a wicked grin curling across my face.

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"You're joking, right?"

"Uh-"

"Why would it hurt?" I think back to when we were kids and I'd bleed from being her plucking punching bag. It's like, whenever she got tired of cosmetically torturing herself or ran out of imperfections to play around with, she'd turn to me like I was some doll. "Unless I'm terrible at this - and we both know I'm not," she says, and I just shut up and nod because I know she's right. 

I just don't get what's wrong with me. Everyone knows Poppy is the pretty sister, even Percy knows it, and I know it shouldn't bother me as much as it does but I'm really struggling to let it go. Poppy guides me over to her bag of tricks and I breathe in real good, breathe out real good, and accept my fate at this point. Maybe if I just try to enjoy it, at some point this will start being fun. And on the bright side, Poppy knows how to be gorgeous, and I'm still figuring that out.

Maybe it's time Patty picks up some new tricks! 

I step on the platform with her help and look at myself in the mirror - I dunno, I look normal to me. What's so bad about that? But then I see Poppy in the corner as she asks me what the plan is, and once I see us next to each other I shrink back in my skin some. I think I physically flinch when I see the measuring tape, "umm... what if we matched, maybe?" Her face tells me everything I need to know so I stutter out a quick, "oh I'd love something-" shit, what color? 

"Yellow?" Be bold! Ugh, okay I tried but this is so stupid, "Never mind, just take control, please," I say, trying to hide behind my crossed arms.  

table by fox

[sidney]

P O P P Y

"What if we matched maybe?"

I almost choke, eyes wide and stomach churning at the thought. She can't be serious, right? She has to be joking! But it only takes me a few seconds to realize she's not just being funny. "I would rather DIE," I spit out venomously - my usual tone whenever Patty is in the room. I just have no patience for her for some reason, and I haven't since the day she was born.

Aka, the worst day of my life.

"My dress is a masterpiece," I say, nodding over toward the opposite corner at the tiered chiffon-layered pomegranate-colored dress I'd spent nearly the entire school year making. "Meant for a work of art." Gesturing at myself, I lean forward toward the mirror and fix a bit of smudged gloss.

Clearly, I mean me.

"Yellow will wash you out, too, so NO. God do you even have eyes? You can see, right? Or do we need to get them checked?"

I'm thinking silver or perhaps navy, maybe with some of that cute diamond-like trim I picked up last month. I could so easily make her a corset-top or something, show off her actual shape and frame, which is quite nice actually. If she'd just flaunt it!

I walk away for a few moments to retrieve fabric and return with a pin already out and ready to go. "Okay, hold still," I order, then begin to wrap the long patch of silver around her bodice. "Silver and navy, those are your colors, sis. You should know that, honestly."

I roll my eyes at her lack of fashion sense.

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"I would rather DIE," alriiight, forget I said anything. I even recoil when she says it, like, damn, here I thought it would be kind of cute. She starts gloating about her perfect dress, but once I set my eyes on it it's so hard to look away. Poppy's right: it is a masterpiece. While she's looking at herself, I'm taking in every detail of this dress. 

I can't even describe the color other than delicious. My heart shatters a little when she says it's meant for a work of art, because I know instantly that she isn't talking about me. I want that dress, I can't help thinking to myself. Then I have the worst of ideas, so bad that I start fidgeting with my hands trying to hide how nervous it makes me. 

When Poppy goes to camp, I'm going to steal that dress. 

That's right, I'm going to steal that fucking dress and sit around and eat cheesecake in it. I'm caught in my little fantasy the whole time she's telling me all about how pitiful I'd look in yellow, but just wait until you see me in... like, a fruity maroon? "Okay, hold still," she commands, and so I try to stand as normal as possible - I've got really bad posture, okay. 

"I honestly didn't know I had 'colors,'" I say, as if I didn't see her roll her eyes through the mirror. "Besides, wouldn't we have the same colors then? Like, I would probably look good in-" I look at her dress in the reflection, ever so tempting. "Red?" She'd never let me touch it knowingly, but part of me craves hearing her say I'd pull it off. 

table by fox