Pretty in Plaid: A Life, a Witch, and a Wardrobe, or the Wonder Years Before the Condescending, Egomaniacal Self-Centered Smart-Ass Phase Read Free

anyone’s diapers when I can change their shoes and hairstyle instead?
    The Brownie troop leaders leave much to be desired, too. They’re always, “Oh, let’s do crafts!” Um, hi, I’m eight—exactly how many hand-sewn wallets does a girl need, particularly since my Brownie-logo coin purse already hangs from my belt? Besides, it’s not like I have any folding money to put in a wallet. And while we’re on the topic of crafts, who thought it was a good idea to make Christmas decorations out of the brown paper roll from inside toilet tissue? What am I supposed to say? “ Hey, Jesus! Here’s an ornament from me and the Charmin Corporation. Enjoy your birthday!” We haven’t actually covered the definition of “sacrilegious” in Sunday school yet, but I’m pretty sure worshipping our savior with ass wipe would qualify.
    In our last meeting I had to assemble this hideous pin out of hairy metallic pipe cleaners and then the leaders expected me to just give it to some girl and be all, “Here’s a piece of junk I made in Brownies. Wanna wear it and be my friend? Or maybe I could interest you in a hand-sewn wallet?” I bet the cool girls in my class, like Nancy (with her entire basement full of board games) or Andrea (who has her own tube of tinted lip gloss and pierced ears), would laugh in my face if I tried to give them a pin.
    Now the Junior Girl Scouts on the other hand . . . I’m into that. I love, love, love Girl Scout uniforms because they are the best shade of green—kind of grassy, kind of mossy, kind of like the color in a really minty Shamrock Shake. I’ve discussed mix-and-match uniform options at length with the two normal Brownies in my pack. Stacey said she’d be happy with anything, while my friend Donna plans on going for the whole mod pantsuit look with a white turtleneck and short jumper worn over flared slacks.
    Personally, I’ve recently become more of a purist after spending my formative years dressed like I was headed to Woodstock. I now prefer a little more tailoring and would like the printed white blouse with the longer dress and some simple textured white tights paired with my wedge school shoes. (Some girls wear the green tights; I am not one of those girls.) Naturally, I’m a big fan of the sash and, of course, the beret. How great will a beret look over my Laura Ingalls Wilder braids? I can’t wait! 7
    Once I’m a Junior Girl Scout, I’ll get to go camping and on skating outings and to jamborees and stuff. I have no clue what a jamboree is, but I’m banking on it including cotton candy and elephant ears.
    While I contemplate how fantastic my life as a Girl Scout’s going to be, the beehived waitress sets the huge, steaming plate of lobster in front of me.
    Um . . . guys?
    Someone accidentally left the face on this thing.
    Two blank black eyes glare accusingly at me from the end of their googly stalks. And there are all kinds of, I don’t know, flippers or gills or testicles or something sticking off its sides.
    Here’s the thing—I know lobsters start off this way because I’ve seen them plenty of times before. Last summer at my mom’s family’s rental house in Maine, I even got to play with them before they were cooked. We raced them and mine was the fastest, of course. But I must have gone to bed before everyone ate because I’d have remembered a gigantic lobster holocaust.
    I thought restaurants only served the big meaty tail and maybe the claws with a side of melted butter. At no point did anyone mention I’d receive a soppy dish of steamy sea bug. The polite thing would have been to note this on the menu.
    I stare at my dinner.
    My dinner stares back.
    We appear to be at an impasse.
    The waitress returns with a giant plastic bib and secures it around my neck, taking pains to protect my red sweater and most of my plaid lap. Is it just me, or does she seem a little smug right now?
    I look at my lobster. My lobster looks at me. I really don’t like where this is