Prologue: Just Another Story

My name is Kagome Higurashi.

I'm 16 years old and rather small for my age (and I'm not just talking about my height). Yes, I was a 14-year-old homecoming queen wannabe.

Two years later and now I'm the kinda girl who understands that if shop mannequins were real women, they'd be too thin to menstruate (I mean Hello! There are three billion women in the world who don't look like super models and only six that do.) But hey, if your feeling fat just make sure you always stand next to a heavily pregnant woman; take one every where you go. That's my advice. But who am to I give advice?

My motto in life is . . . if it fits, don't wear it. I like to wear my clothes baggy enough to cover an aircraft carrier; teamed with voluminous underwear, my panty-line is almost always visible. I have a positive allergy to G-strings.

Nothing, I'll repeat, nothing is getting shoved up my ass.

So now you might wonder how I went from a wannabe sex goddess, to a girl who shaves her legs to the hemline in summer and becomes too lazy to do it in winter.

Well that's simple to explain. It started a year and a half ago when my mother turned 39. I swear to you, for females, turning 40 is more dangerous then a beach thong in a big surf. I personally blame Mother Nature (two-faced bitch) and Father Time (bloody bastard). It's like they took her into a dark alley and beat the crap out of her. So back to point, after my mother turned 39, my father left her for his 24-year-old dental hygienist (yep the story that's been told a million times yet some how I never thought it'd happen to my family).

I'm sure you wondering how that made me go from high heels, to sneakers. Well after watching my mother go though all that, it made me think...Women have this inability to say 'no' to beautification assistants.

'Pureed pig erections?

Yes, please. Ground sheep embryos in a handy handbag-size dispenser?

Hell yes.

Good god if a beauty expert told us to eat our own sanitary towel for invigorated complexion, we'd damn well do it! Yet, there was no miracle cream that could prevent my father from leaving my mother.

So what the hell was I wasting my time for? There was no point. Sure you can look good for a few years but then you turn 40 and he leaves you for his ugly (yet younger) dental hygienist or maybe he'll leave you for your kid's school teacher? The point is he'll leave.

I'm not sexist. I'm realistic. There's a difference.