It was your older cousin Kelly. Sweat glistened on her skin as she made her way through the doorway. She must have just gotten home from a workout. Her dark brown hair trailed down the back of her spaghetti strap shirt, ending a foot above the waist of her black yoga pants. Speaking of feet, the patter of her footsteps had been amplified by her old raggedy pink tennis shoes. Kelly’s been abusing that pair for as long as you can recall, the stench that emanates from the holes in their fabric being a frequent reminder of that. You shout out to her in hopes she’d notice you, but at your size you weren’t confident your voice would even travel outside the toilet bowl surrounding you. What happened next?
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