Mum had told her before, but Molly was re-learning life's little lessons; #26 Never run up escalators in wide leg pants.

"That's the way the cookie crumbles," demonstrated Molly to the nervous smattering of adolescents. Molly was attempting to whip life lessons into her weekly cooking class.

Lucy wondered why the shop keeper looked at her funny.... She certainly wasn't the one wearing crocs in public

Molly's head pounded like a drum, with an unmedicated maniac at the helm. Molly wanted to break his wrists.

Molly was devastated. Her ship had sailed and she was marooned in the harbor. Fuck, she breathed loudly.

Although Molly was feeling blue, her mood ring was a beguiling happy orange.

Molly had decided to jump on the bandwagon. Although clearly a metaphorical mode of transport, she packed her overnight bag and waited eagerly by the roadside.

When Molly heard that Lucy was bushwhacked, she misinterpreted her friends disappearance as a Brazilian wax gone horrifically wrong.

All Molly could do was watch on in horror as Lucy cut the rug. Literally, by dragging her sharp heels in small cut-step fancy footwork.

What next? Thought Lucy as she took to the Nutbush for one final solo...

Writhing and squirming in the intensity of the moment, Lucy's dance moves had taken a somber turn.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it! Molly said loudly, as she unveiled her amazing handiwork at the macramé craft workshop. Molly was speaking metaphorically. She had spent many entangled and confusing hours completing the owl wall hanging, an effort she didn't want to see go up in smoke.

As the day darkened, Molly's nipples grew hard with anticipation. Tonight she was meeting Mike the Magician for a card trick and quick fuck.

Screw this! She said loudly, instructing her lover unabashedly.