Angel (Cordelia's Version)

Disclaimer: See chapter one

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This past week has been like world war three, what with principals and pigs getting eaten, and let's not forget that it was some of my fellow classmate who ate the pig. Alive!

Naturally I'm feeling a little like I'm in the twilight zone…then again Xanders embarrassing display is a reminder of how normal the moment is. He's amazingly pathetic in the girl-boy arena.

Hey ouch! Well if it isn't Mr-Xander-No-Co-ordination!

"Ouch! Please get your extreme oafishness off my two-hundred-dollar shoes!"

Do I step over your two-dollar shoes? No! Why? 'Cause I have co-ordination and plus, why would I want to get my designer dressed self anywhere near your walmart special hideousness?

"I'm sorry, I was just…"

"…getting off the dance floor before Annie Vega's boyfriend squashes you like a bug?"

"Oh, so you noticed."

Yeah every horrified person in this building watched your wretched display of dancing, it's like when you rubberneck at an accident scene 'cause for some strange reason you can't turn your eyes away from the gore and grossness of it…

"Uh-huh"

"Yeah, thanks for being so understanding."

"Sure."

You're just lucky I haven't turned you in to the authorities for dancing like a wired up monkey.

"Y'know, hey, I don't know what everyone's talking about. That outfit doesn't make you look like a hooker!

Yeah, and you would know what one looks like 'cause the only date you can get are the ones you have to pay for.

Just in case though, I make my way to the bathroom for a once over. Not that I believe Mr Fashion Senseless would know a designer outfit from a passed down hobo outfit, I can't take any chances.

Oh look, the nerd herd…just what I needed to see first thing in the morning, now I know it's not going to be a good day.

Oh.My.God!

"What!"

Is that my dress the little hussy is wearing? And…okay, now Xander is talking to me? Why?

"Not vampire…How could you love an umpire? Everyone hates 'em!"

You are so weird, I'm not even gonna try and figure out what that means, apart from the fact you need tons of therapy! Right now, I'm more concerned about the fact that someone else is wearing my one-of-a-kind dress.

"Where did you get that dress?"

I chase her down, ready to maim and murder if it comes down to it.

"This is a one-of-a-kind Todd Oldham. Do you know how much this dress cost? Is this a knockoff?"

I check the label to confirm what I already know.

"This is a knockoff, isn't it! Some cheesy knockoff! This is exactly what happens when you sign these free trade agreements!"

How am I supposed to get through this day now? It's like I'm living in hell or something…