I am asked to pay, in order that I might sell myself for my school.

It will be fun, I am told. It is one of the neatest senior traditions here, she tells our class, as all forty-six of us raise a collective, dubious eyebrow. Some perhaps higher than others...myself not excluded.

Everyone must buy a ticket, including you guys. We encourage you to sell tickets to your family and friends as well. Our goal is to have each senior sell a table of ten. At thirty dollars each? And...wait a second, back it up a little...I have to pay to come to this?

So its the senior fashion show. People come to spend a day having productes pitched to them from vendors, then they eat lunch, and then they watch us parade down the runway. Just like models. How cute.

I have fought all my life to be seen as more than what I look like. Now they ask me to forget that, toss on some overpriced clothes [dear god do The Gap and Old Navy need any more promotion? is it even possible??] and strut my ass down a catwalk?

And--I have to pay to encourage what I fight against on a daily basis?