Suzie.
White girl. 5'5", short wavy light-brown hair that never sits right when I need it to.
I live in Charleston, South Carolina where the skies are sunny, the people are nosy, and apparently, group chats are the official way to ruin a perfectly peaceful Sunday morning.
Sunday mornings are supposed to be calm.
Peaceful. Quiet. Aesthetic coffee vibes.
maybe.
Mine?
I woke up to a group chat explosion.
27 missed messages, and a panicked
scream:
"PICNIC. ONE HOOR. BE READY. BRING VIBES."
I blinked twice, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
Nope.
"SARAH!" I shrieked across the room. tripping over the mountain of clothes I hadn't folded since-let's not talk about it.
My roommate groaned from under her blanket like the ghost of someone who absolutely didn't sign up for this kind of morning.
"Get up! Get your butt out of bed! We've got, like, fifty minutes and I don't even know what I'm wearing!"
I was already knee-deep in outfit mayhem crop tops flying. lip gloss missing, and two broken hangers in.
"Is it too much if I wear that red dress?"
You have, like... four."
Honestly, I wanted to live that soft picnic girl life. The kind with floral skirts. matching blankets, and no stress.
Instead?
I was screaming at my roommate while shoving toast in my mouth and trying to fit a cute outfit, sunscreen, portable speaker, AND feelings into one sad little backpack.
It was already a disaster.
And I didn't even know that the real mess hadn't started yet.
After going full tornado-mode through my closet. I finally managed to stuff three outfit options, a water bottle, and a small existential crisis into my tiny picnic bag.
Then I checked on Sarah.
She was standing in the middle of the room like a confused little gremlin. holding up a hoodie and a pair of sandals like they were part of the same outfit.
"Are you dressing for a picnic or a midlife crisis?" I asked.
"I didn't know we were dressing for the Met Gala," she shot back, trying to fit a giant sunhat into a tote that clearly wasn't having it.
After ten more minutes of chaos. emergency hairbrushes, and stolen earrings, we finally zipped up our bags and declared ourselves semi-ready.
But first food
We ran down the stairs to our tiny kitchen. where we made the most unhinged breakfast: cold toast, instant coffee, and a banana that looked sadder than my love life.
"We're gonna be late." I muttered, checking the time.
"We're always late," Sarah said,v, unbothered as ever, chewing like we had all the time in the world.
A honk outside the apartment snapped us both into motion.
Our ride was here. Our group was waiting. The picnic was officially about to begin.
Little did I know... by the end of the day, someone would kiss the wrong person, someone would cry, and someone (me) would wish we'd never opened that group chat at all.