The Giant, the B*#$% and your Wardrobe Chapter 1

   I have started a short series called as the tittle states. The Giant, the B*#$% and your Wardrobe. Every week or so I will post a new, real story of *Bethany Agens (*name changed) and her everyday criticual life. Leave comments, I enjoy reading different prospectives, though if you leave a negative comment on my Blog. I will very much dislike it, I enjoy constructive critizism though. So anywho instead f posting the opening chapter, I have decided to go on with the actual Chapter 1. So here on and forth, I present to you the first chapter of The Giant, The B*#$%, and your Wardrobe.
   So sitting on those steps, thinking to myself, I must have done the stupidest things coming here. The first thing coming out from my own family's mouth was a sweet screech of irratation. "Your mother can afford Snuff but not a decent home for her daughter to stride and grow in, the dang woman wouldn't tie her shoes to help someone," if you have predicted this got me in such an unpleasant mood, it did none better for the gardener. The quite creepy, slunched man with a mini shuffle and a pale of water. I once walked in on him while his process was in full being. He looked so happy, little luminous tears fell from his wrinkled face. I felt as if he was a kind soul. That was until he scowled me out.
    And school is not considered in anyway any better. If I could, I would make my life a reality show like in America. Oh, have I forgotten to tell you such a thing? Why yes, I have landed myself in such a place people called... Beverly Hills? Here there is no tea and crumpets as such say we have in Britain. I would fondly laugh a bit, and remark "We have biscuts there, oh haha". They would stare at me and my cotton dress as if I were an alien. Yes, an alien.  Do you believe some Americans here believe in such a thing? I chuckle at that thought, and now some are convinced I have come as an alien.
   One girl in preticular, *Abby Lunent has been rumored to have killed enough souls, socially of course. She has a shiny black wig of hair (I suppose it is a wig), and perfectly ordered teeth. I do recall we have quite nice dental work in England. I ask her politely if she was from upper Europe. She commented oddly (american accent) "Oh for sure, do i look British to you?" I do not understand such words. Though there are British students here too. The seem just as the rest though. Laughing and talking, why wasn't i fitting? Have you ever heard the term, needle in a haystack? (My grandmother thought it to me). Well that sums up how exactly I feel. I feel overwhelmed by hay. Well, not technoically hay, but you understand  the matter.
   You have just attemped to read the first 2-3 paragraphs of the story presented. I admit and find her story  a little slow at first but just in time, it heats up, come next week to an add on, to this very post. =) Thank you.

^The Story above does not depict any offence what to ever. This is a story ment for your entertainment.