I'm only eight-years-old and already I have a complex. I hate Valentine's Day. I never get a card or candy or anything.
My older sister, the "pretty one," gets a lot of Valentine's Day cards. Standing next to her makes me double ugly. Besides, boys don't like girls with crooked teeth. Not my fault my parents can't afford braces for me. My sister never needed them. Her teeth are perfect. Like her.
Valentine cards are stupid. Who needs them? Big, fat, red hearts. What does that mean anyway? Valentine cards were invented by people to make money. And stores sell candy that makes you fat and gives you zits. "Want some candy little girl?" "No, you perv. Come back when you can offer a car."
Everybody has a date except me, not that my parents would let me go out even if somebody asked me. Like I said, I'm only eight. I got a smile this morning from Buster Marsak, but he doesn't count. He always smiles. There's something wrong with somebody who always smiles.
No, Mom, I am not going to put on my red dress. Why? There's no party I was invited to and I wouldn't go anyway. Who needs it? Who needs pretending to be somebody else having a good time? Not me. I don't need a card. I am above that. I don't send them, and I don't want them.
"What's that, Mom? A Valentine card came for me?" I fell down the stairs running.
Crap. It's from my sister.