Adriene Crimson

I’m at an old school all night party in a high school gym.
There are giant containers of commercial candy everywhere.
I’m gathering up one of each of the flavors that intrigue me – I wish I could remember the names – they were crazy!
Someone had said something about some of the candy being only for pretty girls and brats and I slid across the waxed wooden floor, on my belly, in my dress similar to the one the Red Queen gave Alice in Tim Burton’s version and shouted “That’s meeeee! But I’m not prettteeeeeeyyyyy!”.

I forgot about it until I was kissing my cat, Timber, on the head this morning. So now I call her Candy Face.