January 14, 2011
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Last winter, I marched confidently to my friend’s car after a victorious day of shopping, bags in hand. Dusk was approaching and, being myself, I got caught up in the latest memoir my friend was telling me. Something extremely important, of course. When…AHHHHH! The next five seconds filled with flailing arms, some pulled hair, hoards of laughing, not to mention, dagger from bystanders. These looks caused by none other than a girl trotting into a tree. That girl was me. One may think a screech would be a common reaction as one strolls into a tree, but this tree happened to be no more than five inches in diameter, planted for decoration. Who would plant a tree in the middle of a parking lot for decoration?
For a multitude of people, this situation or similar ones are a rare occasion, but unfortunately for me, it is a typical scene. My friend continued on with her story, unphased as if nothing had happened. She is used to the various sounds exuding from my mouth for almost no reason at all. Ughhh, ahh, ohh, woahhh, wahh…all for a drop of a pencil, an avoided collision in the hallway, or even a piece of lint on a shirt.
To sum it all up I'm THAT girl, the one screaming when a bird flies past, and the girl you want to throw a brick at in the movie theater. You may hate me, but that's alright. At least I am myself.

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