Sarah from a far

Essay by ReeRee March 2004

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I see her every morning; she gets up, hair un-brushed, make-up smeared under her eyes. Her name is Sarah. She walks down the stairs, and stumbles a bit while wiping her eyes clear. She moans a bit about wanting to go back to bed for "Sleeeeeeeep!" (in her words). After having a few moments to realise what she is doing she walks into the bathroom.

It's been twenty minutes! What the heck is she doing? "Sarah get out of the damn bathroom!" yeah, I know I am screaming like I have been waiting for over an hour. I need the brush though.

"Hold on, I'm busy." She responded like it was the one-millionth time I had said that. I had to think how to respond, I really only need the brush, but I do not think that she will open the door for that. I know I wouldn't.

"I need the toilet!" yeah, I know I lied, but what choice did I have, she wouldn't listen any other way.

"No! You can hold on for a bit, besides I bet you only need it for something stooged like your make-up or hair." How she know? "I know because we go through this every morning." Wow freaky, she knew what I was thinking. Oh finally, she is coming out. Now that is a complete transformation, from tired and groggy to awake and... well... not groggy. She is dressed in her uniform kilt and her uniform sweater, hair down and neatly brushed, and her green knee high school socks pulled up to her knees. But then she

ruins the look. Sarah shook her hair so it was not so straight and perfect. I guess she does not like to have a "preppy" look about her. So any ways, now that I...