Every time I turn around, I see a girl I went to high school with. Never anyone I was good friends with. No, it's either girls who once teased and tormented me, or girls that I grew out of along with my Barbie dolls.

And I swear, they're all either pregnant or fat, or pregnant and fat. They're either shuffling around Wal-Mart, cart full of diapers and cheap makeup, or standing behind the cash register at the grocery store.

All the more reason to get out, I suppose.