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Muddy Rhinestones MAG
When I was three, I wore a purple romper with nine multi-colored hearts on the
front and fell from the Oriental Cherry Tree into the mud.
I was told to wash up.
When I was five, I wore a pair of starched, crinkly jeans and a creased straw
cowboy hat and rode around like a hell-bent-for-leather crazy
When I was seven, I wore a cockleshell pink dress with overabundant ruffles of
lace to a restaurant.
When I was thirteen, I wore a pair of carefully rolled denim Gap shorts and a
purposefully untucked white Gap polo with nary a stain.
When I was fifteen, I wore a pair of skin-tight sand beige britches and an overly
expensive Grand Prix riding jacket to accept a mere slip of
ribbon with the words "champion" emblazoned on the
When I was seventeen, I wore a silver-green satin dress that fell softly to my
ankles and had no back except for two criss-crossing
rhinestone straps so that men could say I was beautiful.
I came home and washed off all my make-up.