So after her endless yet ineffective efforts, she realized that it was time for her to give up. She rolled her lips around her straw, sucked and sucked and got nothing of her thick shake. A gust of wind blew her skirt up, exposing her floral undergarments. No one was anywhere near her, but her cheeks were an inevitable red.
“Fucking skirt,” she mumbled to herself. She didn’t need to mumble and curse, she didn’t know why she did it. Was it helpful in holding her back from her own self-embarrassment?
Her skirt blew up again a few minutes later, and by this time a little old lady had crept up behind her.
“Fucking skirt,” she mumbled again, this time suppressing further elaboration. As the woman passed her, Skirty gave a little charming smile. The woman smiled back.
“Howdedoo,” the woman said.
Skirty rolled her eyes – she gave up again. She noticed the sharp edge of the bridge as the woman scurried off. She stared at it longingly.
“I need to be strong,” she whispered. Alas, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She ran to the ledge, stopped abruptly, hanging her toes teasingly over the edge. She attempted to take one last sip of her milkshake. Nothing escaped the straw. She took several steps back, then concentrated all her might into one point of her body, and flung that horrible burden into the icy waters below.
2001