Listen up, Little Miss Fun Hater. Off the record, if it wasn't for our school's strict but smarmy anti-bullying laws, I would bitch-slap you into next summer.
Even as zombies, ridiculous prom gowns were the downfall of teenage girls, crippling them at the knees.
This is what my high school life had become—a horror show of epic, mind-fuck proportions.
If she did bitch-slap me, I'd bitch-slap her right back, but I resented the word bitch and all its familiar forms, as it was degrading to women and dogs everywhere.
I felt bad for the girls in my school, who flocked to prom like it was the second coming of Christ, complete with double-rainbows and unicorns.
I never intended to become a zombie huntress; I had only intended to protest prom, high school’s last bastion of patriarchal society.
