I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.

73 - Cursed Ice Cream

"Ooo, chocolate. Yes. Yep. Yessireee..." I knew I was talking aloud to myself. I knew that fact and didn't care at all at the moment.

I could give as many fucks as turtles have fucking wings.

When I turned to the side and saw some random looking dude as he was quickly walking away from this section of the freezer aisle I realized maybe I wasn't as quiet as I thought.

"Oh whatever..." I mutter to myself and then open the door and pull the offbrand tub of ice cream out and into my cart.

I am at Walmart, getting some last minute food items — for myself of course — after I'd managed to convince my parents that I needed to come here to get some gifts for my friends.

Today has been an absolute crapshoot and I'd driven home feeling low and angry and tired yet again. It felt awfully reminiscent of my days in middle school when I was targeted just for being ugly and weird and mean, but as low as I've felt after Tamara's targeted assaults and the residual effects of Nyssa's words that still stabbed me in the chest if I allowed myself to think about them, one MAJOR difference was that I now had friends.

So I have to make it right.

As a right brained nerdy bitch, creativity has never been my forte — crayons, paint and construction paper fell out of favor with me by like second grade — but Pinterest thankfully has a plethora of 'thank you' ideas.

Almost too many! Thank you baskets, thank you cards, thank you wraps, thank you cakes, thank you buckets, thank you boxes, thank you sacks, thank you bags...it was overwhelming at first but I eventually made up my mind and came up with half an idea.

But despite my plans, I'd had to get around my parents, namely, mother.

Ugh, my mother.

So since I'd been a pathetic and dumbass weepy state on the way home, I hadn't exactly remembered that I was wearing a weird outfit until I was unbuckling myself from my van. I'll admit to having panicked for a solid thirty seconds, debating how I'd explain/hide/sneak into my house, but decided to stick with the truth.

Mostly.

Dad saw me first when I walked in and I swear the wrinkles in his forehead doubled. Then mom happened to walk in next and she'd stared at me like I'd just lit myself on fire and was singing Christmas carols whilst dancing the mamba.

"You— you're...what...happened to your clothes? Clarisse?" I had seen the look of growing terror in her face and had been almost able to hear the wheels spinning much-too-damned-fast in her brain. I'm sure she'd been thinking along the lines of my having skipped school to go shopping and that I'd spent all my money on clothes and a piercing in some unsavory place (anywhere but the earlobes for her is unsavory). My mother KNOWS me, her boring as nerd bitch child who wears boring clothes and hordes her money like Smaug, but yet, I'd seen her mind going crazy to try and explain my weird, tight ensemble.

"Relax mom."

Not my best word choice.

My Cherry-red stained tshirt from this morning was enough proof to tone her down when I saw the immediate rage boiling out of her head like smoke from a tire bonfire. She'd blinked the fury away the second she'd seen my  soiled clothing.

"Just spilled a drink. My friends let me borrow their clothes!" I'd said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Just 'spilled'! It's like you doused yourself in it! How did that happen?"

My mom had come forward and grabbed the shirt from me, tsking under her breath.

"I, um, tripped while I was drinking it."