I wore a scarf to school on Friday. I’m not a naysayer, but I don’t have to be to know that it didn’t go well. Apparently, there are implications that come with that particular look. When one sees a scarf, it is assumed that the individual sporting the cozy garment is, absolutely and undeniably, a total prepster. Now I may be guilty of these assumptions, but I certainly wasn’t ready to admit it to anyone right then.
I tried to convince them I was wearing the scarf to cover up some bloody sores on my neck. Just when people were starting to believe me, somebody asked if they could see my injuries. But I’m as slick as my outfits, so I told him it would benefit both of us if I went and washed up the sores real quick. I dashed off and quickly located the nearest female. I asked politely to borrow her makeup. She agreed.
Five minutes later, I appeared from the bathroom with some gnarly slashes on my neck. Oh, I’m sorry, did you assume that I painted the cuts on my neck with the makeup? No, I was simply trying to fix my contours, and some jerk came up behind me and slashed me with a mechanical pencil. Nasty bastard. At least I got away with wearing the scarf until the cuts healed.