“Hello, Jen,” she said in her Mickey Mouse voice. She, also, said that she’d had her heart broken ten years ago, so she was reluctant to have a proper relationship. “Hey! Her hair was parted down the middle into two afro puffs, and my hair was slicked back into a ponytail. That meant he didn’t want to tell me. Paris, this is Charlotte.”
“Hi.”
Charlotte got up and hugged her. I looked around, and there was the Hulk by the punch bowl, drinking and staring at me. And, lastly, she had on white knee highs and black heels and a green sash with “Cookie Girl” printed in gold on it. What was so weird was that we had started to talk a lot about orgies and group sex, and I didn’t feel any jealousy at all. I tried entertaining myself by watching Mrs. Her too small, too tight dress was low-cut, and her ginormous breasts looked like they were fighting to burst out of the opening. “Well, it looks like you might have accidentally cut some of it off.”
Charlotte and I laughed.
