Breakfast At Tiffany's

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A Slice of my Life

Part of: LA

“Tiff, you’re really short. I’ve never noticed you were this short,” said my oldest friend, C.

We’ve known each other since we were three-years-old.

“How short are you?” C continued.

“Fuck you very much. I cried the day my doctor told me I wasn’t going to grow anymore.”

C laughed.

I looked down at my high heeled boots. We were sitting against a wall. I was slouching a bit, since I hadn’t done yoga in awhile.

“I’m 5’4,” I countered back. Short was 5’2 and below.

C introduced me to a girl wearing low slung Frankie B’s, a short striped top, hat, and gobs of pink lip gloss. It was a typical LA going out outfit, except the lace top of her underwear was exposed.

“Did you mean to do that?” C asked. I refrained from laughing as the girl corroborated the question. Of course she meant to. I hope this doesn’t morph into a new trend. It looks really stupid.

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