Post by Taylor Dear on Nov 24, 2006 23:04:05 GMT -5
Taylor couldn't help but snort at the ridiculous sticker she'd just discovered on the lining of her blazer.
Viva La Juicy, is what it said, and completely ridiculous is what Taylor thought of it, completely barring her aspersions towards the language of Spanish, and laughing about how...something the sticker was. It was funny some of the things that her mother bought her from time to time. Wasn't she aware that Taylor was completely anti-Juicy Couture? The whole " we make cheap velour sweat-suits " act was getting a little old. Not that she didn't immensely enjoy the cashmere ones, though.
Right now, Taylor was stationed in the women's lavatory of her school, taking a much needed break from Women's History to have a bottle of pomegrante juice, catch up on her email, and just, chill. Of course, she had her problems with sitting on the grotty, pastel pink tiles, but it was better than sitting on the counters or on a toilet. Her beyond pale legs were crossed, her argyle socks pulled up just below her knees, and her black loafers delicatley scuffed. She took off her navy blazer and laid it besides her, and pulled her phone out of her bag. As big of a cliche as it would be, she desperatley wanted a Sidekick III, but her parents viewed it as a sin, so she was stuck, for now, with a ridiculously tacky gold RAZR. She sighed, placing it on the cold tiles and pulling the curvy bottle out from the bottom of her bag. After a short struggle, she uncapped it and took a delicate sip of the blueberry and pomegrante goodness.
Viva La Juicy, is what it said, and completely ridiculous is what Taylor thought of it, completely barring her aspersions towards the language of Spanish, and laughing about how...something the sticker was. It was funny some of the things that her mother bought her from time to time. Wasn't she aware that Taylor was completely anti-Juicy Couture? The whole " we make cheap velour sweat-suits " act was getting a little old. Not that she didn't immensely enjoy the cashmere ones, though.
Right now, Taylor was stationed in the women's lavatory of her school, taking a much needed break from Women's History to have a bottle of pomegrante juice, catch up on her email, and just, chill. Of course, she had her problems with sitting on the grotty, pastel pink tiles, but it was better than sitting on the counters or on a toilet. Her beyond pale legs were crossed, her argyle socks pulled up just below her knees, and her black loafers delicatley scuffed. She took off her navy blazer and laid it besides her, and pulled her phone out of her bag. As big of a cliche as it would be, she desperatley wanted a Sidekick III, but her parents viewed it as a sin, so she was stuck, for now, with a ridiculously tacky gold RAZR. She sighed, placing it on the cold tiles and pulling the curvy bottle out from the bottom of her bag. After a short struggle, she uncapped it and took a delicate sip of the blueberry and pomegrante goodness.
