Dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, I was wearing my common attire. Other girls I presumed to be here for the same reason were all dressed up, drenched in make-up wearing their finest clothes. Now I laugh at their appearance, "It's a head shot, they're not going to be looking at your white, highly-priced, Abercrombie jeans." But at that moment I felt underdressed. Fidgeting in my seat waiting for my turn, I took out my poinytail. Having my hairdown might cover my middle-school sweatshirt and hopefully make me more presentable. Sneeking a peek in a questioning room like mirror, this is not the case. I'm overcome with a sense of annoyance forcing me to put it back up. It isn't long before my winning number is called. Not on purpose, I have forgotten about my appearance. I'm commanded to smile and with a flash, my picture is taken. I'm offered a glance at what will identify me for the next five years of my life. I walk out more satisfied than 'Abercrombie' arguing with her mom. I snicker as her fading words resemble a sentence much like, "you should be allowed more than two shots. I mean no one gets a good picture on their first try."
I did.
Oh, very very good drop-dead ending, finishing off that sharp Abercrombie put-down. For a man, not really understanding or noticing how these things work, this offered a nice peek into another and mysterious world.
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