Fourth Floor Common Room [Thursday night]

[dirtiest-skank.livejournal.com]

Olive had woken today to discover that, tragically, she did not still taste of oranges. She did move past this -- she'd kind of hoped it was a permanent change because hi, oranges tasted nice and Olive occasionally had a slightly dirty mind -- and had gone to class and everything.

But then a whole new tragedy had occurred.

She was parked in front of the television with a bottle of nail polish and bared feet, fully prepared to have an evening of politics and pedicures. But every time she tried to watch the DNC -- she really, really wanted one of the celebrities coming tonight to yell at a chair, shut up -- it was in Spanish. On CNN, on NBC -- all the news channels were, inexplicably, only broadcasting the convention en español.

And so Olive, nail polish forgotten, was trying to parse together what she could, based upon three years of public school Spanish. "Barack Obama has a...help for the February?"

Olive had never been gifted at foreign language, no.

[totes open, and bless you, craftyladyparts, for the prompt.]