We are at, like, a dance. We are like wearing these new, like, tops. We put lipstick all around our mouths. We feel jealous of each other’s mouths but, like, that isn’t cool, so we keep it to ourselves. We don’t want to dance with anything chubby because it’s like dancing with our stepdads, or dancing with, like, some like weird baby grizzly boy. We are like, yuck.