Well, here goes, my name is Grace (boring and crappy name, I know), I have really annoying bluey, grey, green eyes that are always changing colour, mid-length brown hair that is so frizzy i have to straighten it EVERY day and please don't even get me started on the paleness of my skin, I swear I musthave blinded at least a million innocents as the light just reflects back off me.
Today was the day me and my bezzie for ezzie Rosie were going on holiday, we were excited to say the least, we'd both just turned 18 and we were looking forward to our first holiday without our annoying parents and we were ready to get pissed.
I heard a knock at the door and as I legged it down the stairs to answer it,
I stacked.
I was tumbling down the last few steps feeling like an obese penguin, when my mum just strolled past me as though seeing her lump of a daughter sprawled out on the floor was a casual thing. Maybe she thought I was doing some sort of freakish yoga move? HAHAHA. As if; that was her thing, not mine.
It was Rosie, she had her nice plain pink suitcase with her - mine was luminous green and looked like it had been given a vajazzle, there was rhinestones all over it and it was chavtastic. It wasn't even mine. It was my mums, cringe. I swear she thinks she's Nicki Minaj or something.
"A'ight bebs?"
"Hiya Trish" Rosie hugged my mum and waved at me over her shoulder.
"How's it hanging?"
"I'm alright, you?"
"Ye blad, I'm sick, how are your 'rents?"
"Wacky as ever, but they're okay..." Rosie rolled her eyes at me.
"I ain't seen them in at least a -"
I actually couldn't believe it, I was lying here on the floor like a retarded monk and they were swapping pleasantries?! Like they didn't even know each other! Rosie was only here every other bloody day.
"- MUM, Hello?!?" My neck was really aching now, I actually couldn't move, I was like a frigging bug on my back.
My mum, however, barely glanced at me.
"Grace, babes, you know it ain't cool when you call me that, it's Trish yeah?"
My mother dearest, thought that she was too 'cool' to be called mum. No. I had to call her 'Trish', which may I add, ISN'T EVEN HER NAME. Her name is Sarah. Boring old Sarah.
Rosie came over and helped me up, I nearly pulled her over too.
'Bloody hell mum, what the hell are you wearing? Is that my top?" Please tell me that my mother is not wearing hot pants. My mum thought she was 'frum da hood.' We live in Kent for crying out loud.
Oh my God, it's not even worth it.
I looked at Rosie and grinned she had a massive grin on her face and her long curly hair was as crazy as her. She already had her sunglasses on covering her hazel eyes, and even though it was raining she had her denim shorts and a strappy top on. Is she bloody mental?
At the same time we both squealed and did a little dance singing, 'we're going Ibiza, we're going Ibiza today.' at the tops of our voices, sorry Mr and Mrs Grump-a-lot, next door.
*Rosie's P.O.V*
When Trish answered the door I had to stop myself from crawling into a ball and laughing like a hedgehog on crack.
She was wearing Grace's pink top that said 'Babe' on the front and some silver hotpants.
Honestly, what even!?
