Chapter 3
Getting ready I kept thinking about some things I would be doing with the little girl. The only thing I knew about her was her name, Denise. I had always loved that name and wished it was my own. My name, Christina, was fine I suppose. I just didn't think I really looked like a Christina. I looked in the mirror. Staring back at me was a girl with short dark brown hair with reddish streaks running through it. I wasn't going to do that anymore. I decided I was going to be as natural as possible from now on. My punk stage was getting old and I wanted to be more sophisticated. My face wasn't anything special. I have a weak chin and my cheekbones aren't very high. The only striking feature about me are my eyes. I had inherited my mother's dark oval shaped eyes. They are the color of dark chocolate and are rimmed with black. I like to think that there is an intensity to them. They are really the only part of my face that shows how I truly feel, while the rest of my face often stays serious and expressionless. My skin is pale and refuses to tan. My body is as I can tell average. I had developed early in life but I hadn't overly developed either. I was fine with my body and try not to envy other girls. Admiring another girls' bodies is a different story though.... I slipped on a pair of comfortable jeans, my usual black top, and a pair of beat up sneakers. Although people give me compliments on my appearance, I really don't see anything special about me.
I was at the door right on time. I had been waiting in my mom's car for about 10 minutes though because I didn't want to arrive too early. It's always uncomfortable to show up and the people are still in their bathrobes getting ready to go out. Well at least Mrs. Launder was fully clothed and looked about ready to go.
"Hi! You must be Christina. Oh what a pretty name for such a pretty girl," I blushed at this. I can't seem to get used to things like that! Mrs. Launder was an attractive woman in her early 40s. I can tell she takes very good care of herself. Trying not to admire too long I turned my attention to what she was saying, which turned out to be surprising. "I know you are used to watching young children, but my daughter Denise is about your age"
Getting ready I kept thinking about some things I would be doing with the little girl. The only thing I knew about her was her name, Denise. I had always loved that name and wished it was my own. My name, Christina, was fine I suppose. I just didn't think I really looked like a Christina. I looked in the mirror. Staring back at me was a girl with short dark brown hair with reddish streaks running through it. I wasn't going to do that anymore. I decided I was going to be as natural as possible from now on. My punk stage was getting old and I wanted to be more sophisticated. My face wasn't anything special. I have a weak chin and my cheekbones aren't very high. The only striking feature about me are my eyes. I had inherited my mother's dark oval shaped eyes. They are the color of dark chocolate and are rimmed with black. I like to think that there is an intensity to them. They are really the only part of my face that shows how I truly feel, while the rest of my face often stays serious and expressionless. My skin is pale and refuses to tan. My body is as I can tell average. I had developed early in life but I hadn't overly developed either. I was fine with my body and try not to envy other girls. Admiring another girls' bodies is a different story though.... I slipped on a pair of comfortable jeans, my usual black top, and a pair of beat up sneakers. Although people give me compliments on my appearance, I really don't see anything special about me.
I was at the door right on time. I had been waiting in my mom's car for about 10 minutes though because I didn't want to arrive too early. It's always uncomfortable to show up and the people are still in their bathrobes getting ready to go out. Well at least Mrs. Launder was fully clothed and looked about ready to go.
"Hi! You must be Christina. Oh what a pretty name for such a pretty girl," I blushed at this. I can't seem to get used to things like that! Mrs. Launder was an attractive woman in her early 40s. I can tell she takes very good care of herself. Trying not to admire too long I turned my attention to what she was saying, which turned out to be surprising. "I know you are used to watching young children, but my daughter Denise is about your age"