“These will be perfect!” Bibbidy exclaims, waving a pair of obsidian high-heeled ankle boots around like a magic wand. “Mmm-hmm.” Marty approves. “Fuck-me boots if I ever saw ’em.” “I can’t wear those,” I try to protest. “I’ll break my neck. There’s still snow on the ground.” “You’re going from the coffee shop to the car,” my sister counters. “You’re not walking the Appalachian Trail, Liv.”
