"That's mine! Give it back!"
"Forget it, jerko!" Outside of Sandi's bedroom where the Fashion Club was having their meeting, the sound of conflict from Sandi's two younger brothers began to disrupt the otherwise orderly gathering.
"Um, the next topic is eyelash density," Stacy ventured, bravely ignoring the arguing.
"You suck! You suck!"
"Excuse me," Sandi said, getting up to confront her brothers (as it was her house, after all, and therefore her responsibilities). Once out there, her voice raised from its usual controlled tones. "Shut up, you little brats!" she admonished.
"Give me the remote!" Sam demanded of his brother. The two were quarreling over a remote-controlled truck.
"Oh!" Sandi called out in surprise, as the truck veered off and headed straight for her. Before she could dodge out of the way, her legs came out from under her, and she went tumbling down the stairs.
"Oww, my head!"
The other Fashion Clubbers crowded around their fallen leader. "Sandi, are you okay?" Quinn asked. a concerned look on her face.
Cautiously, Sandi nodded. "I think so. Ohhh, my head hurts."
A worried look crossed Stacy's face. "You don't have amnesia, do you, Sandi?"
Sandi rolled her eyes. "No, Stacy, don't be ridiculous. I'm still Sandi Griffin, President of the..." A frown graced Sandi's face. "I'm President of the...Club? It's some sort of club."
"Sandi..." Tiffany drawled out. "You're President of the Fashion Club."
"Oh," Sandi nodded. "What's a 'fashion'?"
Looks of horror were on Sandi's underling's faces.
"Fashion is dog poop!" Chris shouted, watching from the top of the stairs.
Sandi nodded in recognition. "Ah, of course. Fashion is dog poop." And with that, she stood and walked out of the house.
Worriedly, Quinn, Tiffany, and Stacy followed behind, to make sure she wouldn't do anything...unsafe. They followed her into the backyard of one of Sandi's neighbors - dog owners, as evidenced by the little piles scattered throughout the yard. Sandi knelt in front of one of the piles, picked up a handful, and began rubbing it in her face.
"Ewwwwwwww!" the other three clubbers squealed out in unison.
"Like, what?" Sandi asked contemptuously. "Did you three hit YOUR heads and forget what fashion is, or something?"
"But Sandi -"
Sandi cut Quinn off. "Look, as President of the Fashion Club, I think I know what fashion is. And if you don't think dog poop is fashionable, Quinn, maybe you should take a fashion sabbatical."
Quinn looked from Sandi to Stacy to Tiffany, a feeling of revulsion in her stomach. With no other option, she picked a pile and began rubbing dog poop onto her face, followed shortly by Stacy and Tiffany.
"What the FUCKING HELL?" Linda, Sandi's mother, had come home and witnessed the whole thing from the kitchen window. "SANDI, GET IN HERE AND WASH YOUR FACE! QUINN, STACY, TIFFANY, I'M CALLING YOUR MOTHERS!"
XXXXXXXXXX
You gotta love really specific amnesia.
Expect this to go places. (Places other than dog poopville).