It’s seven o’clock and Chris and I are getting ready at my house. Her parents let her sleep over this weekend so I’m not in the house alone.
“I can’t decide what to wear,” Chris yells.
“Pick whatever you want. Just leave my outfit alone,” I say.
I’m curling my hair after doing my make-up. Chris is going through my closet for the hundredth time.
“Nothing fits right. Your boobs stretch everything out,” she complains.
“Hey don’t hate because mine are bigger. We’re just built differently,” I tell her.
“That doesn’t help me right now,” she whines.
“Wear that purple bodycon dress I just got. The scrunchie one. I haven’t had a chance to wear it yet so my t**s haven’t stretched the top out,” I tell her.
“Are you sure? It still has the tag on it,” she says.
“As long as you bring it back in
