About Me

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Laurenlove...

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Stories...

It was about one in the afternoon, and my Chanel boots were making their way up the avenue as I considered my supermodel potential. At 5'8" with mile-long legs, a size 2 waist, a soft pal complexion, and dark mermaid-style waves that frame celery-colored eyes, I could pass for the next Twiggy. But before today, I had never even considered that.

I happened to be shopping in Nordstrom's for black pumps to wear to my interview with Vogue tommorrow, when a man who deeply resembled Shaft on many different levels sashayed in my direction. Make that a gay Shaft.

At first, I assumed he was putting on an act in order to successfully hit on me, so I payed him no attention. As I picked up a Marc Jacobs ankle boot, Shaft introduced himself with his career (publicist), and rambled on about how Hugo Boss needs models. He politely handed me his card, gave me a stoic Boss smile, complimented my taste in shoes, and sashayed away. I forced a curtious smile in Gay Shaft's direction, paid way too much money for the ankle boots I was too freaked out to try on, and began to stroll up the avenue back to campus. I do not want to leave Yale. I do not want to graduate in two weeks. I do not want to be valedictorian because I do not want to prepare a speech.

If I were anybody else, I would just be entering my second year of college this year. I am not "anybody else." I am nineteen years old; I am graduating valedictorian of my class from Yale University; I am Luanne Herring, the smartest girl alive. I do not want to be a Boss model.

Strolling strolling strolling. Finally I approached my house at 1:30 as my tummy began to grumble. I opened the door just in time to see one of my three roommates, Marie, sitting in the kitchen, applying what I would wager to be her eighth coat of mascara. She blinked her spidery lashes in my direction as acknowledgement of my return.

"Hey Luanne!" Marie looked overexcited to see me.

"Hey hey," I replied, putting on my best Yes-I-Do-Care! smile for her. "I am inferring from your copious amounts of mascara that you have a date tonight."

Marie's artificial face seemed to glow in rection to that sentiment. Boy, am I physcic or what?

"Yeah! You know Luke Potter, right?"

"Mmhmm," I responded with the cheeriest voice I could muster. Marie goes on so many dates it's unfathomable. She is very pretty, but Marie is just so...fake. Not too bright either. Suddenly, I heard Marie talking again, but I was so bored that all I could make out was:

"Well, he asked me out drone drone drone, dinner date drone drone so cute! Zagga wagga zagga wagga eight coats of mascara."

Okay, I might have imagined that last part.

"Yeah," I said. "I can't wait to hear all about it." NOT! My fingers are crossed behind my back. Marie is unaware of this.

"Awww! Don't be sad, Lu! You're going out tonight with your guy. Any big plans?"

Although her overt preppiness made me cringe, I couldn't help but smile at this sentiment. Now it was my turn to glow.

"Well, he mentioned taking me out to dinner," I informed her. I conveniently left out the fact that I suspect he might propose to me.

Logan Bartley has been my boyfriend for almost three years now. He has been acting mysterious lately, and like I said, I think I know why.

I bid my whiny friend a pleasant time on her date, then made my way up the stairs to my room.

So here I am: in the present tense. I have been making surprised/ecstatic faces at myself for the past fifteen minutes. I want to get my expression just right. I feel akin to Bob Saget.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! OH MY GAWWD!"

The door o my room flies open suddenly, and who else would be standing there, red-faced, but my best friend in the world and roommate, Kelly.

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