Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Chapter One
OMFG you guys. I just saw #serafinaedison at the airport, and she's just like y'all say she is. Classy AF. For realz!
~ Marlene, Twitter
I almost had a heart attack when I realized #serafinaedison was queueing behind me at Starbucks! I offered to let her go ahead of me, but she said no. She's so kind! So classy!
~ Ava, Twitter
Watch and learn! This is how real ladies yawn! #stayclassy #serafinaedison
~ Nancy, Instagram story
I'm on the same flight as #serafinaedison and you guys just gotta see this for yourself. No makeup. No fancy clothes. Just clear radiantly beautiful skin doing its job. Like, seriously. Do I need to sell my soul to the devil so I can say I #wokeuplikethis too?
~ Carrie, Twitter
There it is again.
The C-word.
Classy, I mean, and not c*nt.
I scroll through my newsfeed on every social media platform, and six out of ten posts have the C-word. Which is good, I know. I'm flattered females of all ages think I'm classy, but...
Stop right there, Raffi.
I need to be grateful about this. People thinking I'm classy is why I have a nice apartment to call home. It's why I can pay the bills and afford a vacation like this. So if people choose to think I'm classy, I just need to...
Fake it till their words become reality?
I drop my phone back in my purse in a fit of frustration and take out my squeeze ball.
Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.
Everything's such a mess these days, I just don't know what's right anymore. Like that post about me yawning. I don't think covering my mouth when yawning is classy. If I don't have my hand over my mouth when I yawn, I'll be giving the public a clear good look at my tonsils, and who in their right mind would want that?
What I think is just plain common sense, the Internet sees as classy, and...that shouldn't be a problem. Right?
No one's going to lose their job or something if people insist on seeing what they want to see and—-
"Sorry about that."
The waitress whose eye I've been trying to catch for the past fifteen minutes finally gets to my booth, and the look on her face has me biting back a sigh. Five years of being "Insta-famous" has me meeting all sorts of people, and her type, well...
"I thought you city girls need about an hour to count your calories or something."
Let's just say I'm used to them disliking me at first sight, but because I also understand where they're coming from...
"It's fine." It really is, never mind if my stomach begs to differ. I've only had oats this morning before deciding to book my flight on a whim, and that was ten hours ago. I'm definitely starving, and so I don't waste another moment as I give the waitress (Colette, according to her name pin) my order.
"One Philly cheesesteak sandwich with fries on the side. One strawberry milkshake, and one side order of cheese sticks please."
Colette stares at me. "Are you sure you're going to eat all of that?"
"Um—-"
"Because we don't like wasting food around here so—-"
I cut her off, saying politely, "I can. Thanks."
"Whatever."
She bristles and rolls her eyes as she makes a show of slashing words into her notepad. But since I have no plans of rising to the bait, Colette eventually flounces off while muttering under her breath. Some of the words sound like 'prissy' and 'stuck-up bitch', but...
I tell myself I heard her say 'pretty' and 'Netflix and chill' instead.
Because it's like I said.
I know where she's coming from. Women like Colette...they're the ones who know the truth. They take one look at me, and like recognizes like. Fine feathers don't always make fine birds, and even though I look like I'm going places...
Women like Colette never have any problem seeing right through me. They know I'm just faking it. They know I'm not classy. They know I'm nothing special, but because life is unfair and shitty that way, I got lucky with the post, and we're no longer in the same boat...just...like...that.
COLETTE IS STILL THE waitress from Hell when she rings the cash register for my bill, but I'd like to think I'm growing on her. When I wished her a "Merry Christmas", she could've told me to fuck off. But she didn't. She said 'whatever' instead, and I don't believe that has anything to do with the hundred-dollar bill she saw me dropping in the tip jar.
The air is dry but insanely cold when I step out of the diner, and I hear the door behind me swing open again while I'm digging in my purse for my winter gloves.
Another customer, I think right away, and I suddenly find myself curious. I was so hungry earlier I didn't get to take a good look at the people around me, but I'm thinking I might be in for a surprise.